


THE COMEBACK KIDS

by Brooke_Lynn



Series: AWAKENINGS UNIVERSE [5]
Category: Captain America The First Avenger fandom, Iron Man I, Iron Man II, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Awakenings Universe Canon, Bathing/Washing, Beware of Steve Texting, Bruce Banner Lets Loose, Cherry Poppage, Clint Barton is a Good Bro Despite his Issues, Clint Feels, Deflowered Steve Rogers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Epic Friendship, F/M, Friendship, Hulk Feels, Hulk Gets a Play Day, Hulk Loves His Team, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Poor Tony, Possessive Tony, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hulk, Protective Steve, Protective Team, Protective Tony, Romance, Romantic Tony Stark, Steve Feels, Steve Has Issues, Steve loves Tony, Team Bonding, Team as Family, The Island of Misfit Action Toys, Thor Is Not Stupid, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony loves Steve, Vacation Hijinks, Wise Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brooke_Lynn/pseuds/Brooke_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Comeback Kids</i> picks up where <i>Kaleidoscope</i> left off: In fact, we rewind and revisit the last scene of the previous story from Tony’s point of view. Yes, we have both Steve Rogers and Tony Stark points of view this time around. The team remains on the island of Provo—aka “Not-Fiji Isle”—everyone still a little shell-shocked, dealing with the repercussions of Steve’s nearly fatal ordeal in their own unique ways . . . particularly Tony. </p><p>Both rattled and reeling, Steve and Tony rely on their love, and the support of their team/family, as they mount their comeback from the crucible faced in <i>Kaleidoscope</i>.  But don’t worry: There is plenty of sunshine bursting through the clouds on the island paradise as everyone finally gets a chance to relax and have fun—even The Hulk. </p><p>Humor, friendship, healing, and romance abound, and Steve and Tony finally get the opportunity to take their love to a deeper level (Yes! There is PLENTY of lovemaking in this one—promise!)</p><p>If you have enjoyed the <i>Awakenings</i> Universe so far, you won’t want to miss this latest installment!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps you are you familiar with the phrase, “It’s always something.” Life is like that, right? There is the course you plan for yourself—and then there is what happens. In the past five months, I’ve found myself in a situation eerily similar to the one I plotted in _Kaleidoscope_ , as if I foreshadowed my own life in some way. I found myself facing a debilitating injury that left me struggling to find patience in my slow healing process and relying upon the constant love and support of my spouse, family, and friends. Not trying to sound arrogant, but I can tell you from experience, I pretty much got it right with Steve and Tony in the previous story, and hopefully this one as well. The only thing harder than suffering every day is watching the person you love suffer every day. So for all of you readers who have experienced pain, disability, helplessness, despair, or have suffered through those things with the person you love—this story is dedicated to you. _The Comeback Kids_ is about putting the pieces back together, because there is always a new day, and when you have love, you have everything, no matter how dark the world might seem.
> 
> Again, I have to thank you for the tremendous support I have received for the stories in the _Awakenings_ Universe. Your comments and kudos and kindness kept me going when I was physically unable to write, and motivated me to get back to my keyboard as soon as I could. I know you guys wait a long time between stories for me, and I appreciate your loyalty and patience more than I can express. I have a lot more to say in this universe, and if you want to hear it, please keep letting me know. And if you like the stories, pass the word. Without readers, there is no reason for writers to exist. And yes, please continue to let me know what you want to see in future stories. To those of you who worry over the movie-verse plan for the impending “Civil War,” please know the _Awakenings_ Universe proudly continues to exist within a world where Steve and Tony love each other, and the Avengers are not just a team, but family.
> 
> A special thank you goes out to AwkwardBlueKitty for unwavering support of my stories, my universe, and my wounded self . . . and for all the great ideas she shoots my way. Thank you, Southern_Comfort, for edits and constant requests for “pages.” And thank you, Flamingo, for sending me enough Steve Rogers/Chris Evans eye candy to keep me inspired for DECADES! Full Boyle, baby!
> 
> As always, I have to thank Agent_Orange_III, because, to put it simply, there would be no me, writer or otherwise, without her. She is the embodiment of courage under fire, and I would not have so much as a sentence of fiction to post if it weren’t for her support, encouragement, assistance, ideas, skill, patience, and love. Thank you!
> 
> *Please read the Series Notes for the _Awakenings_ Universe for clarification as to what aspects of The Avengers movie-verse will and won’t be found in this series. I would not want anyone to be disappointed.

“Stark!”

Tony could just about make out Agent’s voice over the awful wheezing noise in his ears. Actually, he heard the _tone_ more than the voice: Coulson’s _get your shit together_ tone. Easy to recognize. He’d heard it enough this week.

“I shall assist him.”

“No, Thor. Don’t touch him. Not when he’s like this.”

_Like what?_

Tony had no idea what they were talking about. He tried to listen closer, but the wheezing had turned into gulping hisses, driving him crazy. What the fuck was that noise? Somebody needed to shut that leaky valve the hell off. What kind of dump was this?

“Tony, listen to me. You’re okay. Steve is okay. This has been a stressful situation and you’re very tired. This is a reasonable response to the strain you’ve been under. Right now, you need to focus on slowing your breathing. Do that now.”

_My what?_

The knot strangling his chest pulled tighter as he realized the awful wheezing sounds were coming from him. _Crap. What the hell?_

“Thor, get a bag and cool cloth. You with me, Tony?”

Tony nodded, opening his eyes, trying to register where he was. He had to pry his fingers out of his hair, realizing he must have blacked out for a second. The last thing he remembered was coming downstairs to—

“Steve!” Tony sprung to his feet, crashing into Coulson’s wheelchair, which was parked beside the kitchen corner he had been crouching in. “What . . . happened? Is . . . he un—” He fought to get the words out around his heaving, but the scarce air intake wasn’t up to the output.

“Steve is fine,” Coulson stated with calm certainty, his good arm coming up, palm forward and flat in a placating gesture. “No change since you left the room. I didn’t come down to tell you anything dire. Thor was taking me to my suite to rest and we found you here like this.”

“I came down to . . . ca-came down to . . . shit.”

He remembered now. Remembered forgetting. He had left their suite with a purpose, but when he got down here, he couldn’t recall any fucking purpose. That’s when it hit . . . the chest pains . . . the wheezing . . .  everything started spinning.

“Stark. Talking isn’t necessary. Take the bag from Thor’s hand. Put it over your mouth. Do it.”

Tony snatched the bag Thundar was waving in his face, anxious to get this over with. Coulson was right. He had to get the breathing under control before he could do anything else. In and out. Nice and slow. He knew the drill.

“Very good. Now keep holding the bag in one hand and take the cool cloth with the other. Put it on your forehead. Do it now, please.”

Again, Tony followed the clear commands, pressing the icy rag to his forehead. He was so damned hot, he could fry an egg on his head. His drawers had been moist so long they would probably need to be peeled off his pubes with tweezers.

“You are doing well,” Thor assured, as if breathing into a paper bag was a monumental freakin’ achievement. He rejected the five snarky comebacks that popped to mind, not wanting to waste the breath.

“Are you back with us?” Phil asked softly. The rest of his words were slow and measured. “Do you remember Steve woke up? That his fever broke? He’s resting upstairs. Clint is still with him. He wants us all to take a break. You can see why that’s necessary, right? You are aware of your exhaustion, correct?

“I’m fine,” Tony said, yanking the bag from his face, balling it into his fist. He was pissed at himself, but he was breathing again. He’d had enough years of practice to be able to calm this kind of crisis quickly once he’d become aware he was in one. After dragging the rag over his face and neck, sucking out every last cool drop, he tossed it toward Thor, who caught it deftly.

“I don’t agree.”

“Thanks for the input, Agent.” Tony made to leave the kitchen, but Phil was quick on the controls of the high-powered chair Tony had gotten for him, turning swiftly to block his path.

“Not so fast.”

“Really? Another lecture? Aren’t you running out of things to say to me?”

“I don’t want to lecture you. I’m concerned about you. _Steve_ is concerned about you.”

As always, Coulson played the perfect card. _Note to self: Do not play poker with Agent._ Tony’s neck muscles tightened. “Steve shouldn’t be worrying about me. He has enough to deal with. He’s been through hell.”

“Agreed. But do you really think you’re going to be able to convince him to rest when you’re wound like this? You got it past him before, but he’s aware enough to notice now.”

Tony dragged his hands over his sweaty face, feeling the overgrowth of his beard, the itching driving him crazy. “Well, fuck, what am I supposed to do? Flip a switch?”

“Steven has made his way through the darkness,” Thor declared. “Take heart, for he has returned to us.”

“Yeah, so you keep saying. I heard this song upstairs, remember?”

“I sing no song. I speak the truth.”

Tony turned to Phil. “What about you? You drinking this _Kool-Aid_? Steve nearly got decapitated by that car a week ago,” he paused, looking at his watch. “I’m sorry. A week and a day now.  He hasn’t been right since. Every day, something different, something worse. And the last two days—” Tony stopped short. Watching Steve lay there like a corpse, as the hours ticked by with no sign he was ever opening his eyes again, was the kind of image that put nightmares to shame.

“I want to believe, but I’m skeptical, same as you. There are too many unknown variables to feel a true sense of security at this point. But I also think Steve had a good point. If Thor is wrong and he’s not fully well, we aren’t going to be able to help him if we’ve depleted all our resources. His condition is currently stable. If that changes, Mark and Carolyn can alert us immediately. The prudent course of action is to refuel and regroup.”

The argument was logical. Tony enjoyed logic. He also excelled at punching holes through it, but taking a better look at Agent, he decided not to be a prick. How Phil was still upright in that chair, despite his obvious fatigue, defied logic. The man had been holding Tony together with duct tape and spit for the last few days. The least he could do was give him a break now. “You’re right. Makes sense. Have a nice, long rest. Thunderdome, take good care of him. Help Walt put him to bed. Wait a minute. You and Walt near a bed might not be a good idea. Can you manage to keep your Asgardian sausage in the package until Agent gets to sleep?”

“I will attend to him with the utmost care, you have my word.”

Tony tried to make an end run around Phil’s chair, but once again, Phil was quicker.

“Not so fast, Stark. What are _you_ going to do?”

“Me?” Tony asked, feigning innocence. “Didn’t we just vote yes to rest? I understand your memory might be a little shoddy at the moment, but—”

“Tony.” The Principal Coulson voice called him up short.

“Okay, fine. I don’t know what I’m going to do. No, that’s not true. First, I’m going to figure out what the fuck I came down here for in the first place.” It pissed him off when his mind played stupid on him. He sucked at stupid.

“You had intended to confer with the staff in regards to putting your suite to rights,” Thor stated kindly, making Tony bristle. He didn’t want kindness. Or pity. He was fucking up. He would rather they just called him on it, not tip-toe around him like he was going to crack. He wasn’t going to crack. Well, not any more than he already had. Probably not.  Maybe. No, definitely no cracking. 

He should have slapped himself upside his head for forgetting something so simple, but it wasn’t his fault because, if JARVIS were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about inane details. “That’s right,” he admitted, clapping his hands together. “That is exactly why I’m down here. So that is what I’m going to do now. Only I can’t because I sent all the staff to the staff house when we cleared the villa. So I’ll call. Because we have these intercom phones. I can pick up one of those and call. Simple enough. Unless maybe this isn’t a good idea. I mean, I sure as hell don’t want to hustle Steve out of bed the second he’s opened his eyes and it can’t be a good idea to have a group of people in there fussing and making noise when he needs to rest, though at some point we need to get that suite cleaned because it looks like—” Tony stopped short, thinking about the upturned lamp and the broken vase from the table Steve had been hiding under, and how one of the legs was bent because Thor had clocked his head on it in an effort to get to Steve. Rage tried to squeeze out from behind the steely inner walls he’d erected when he had to stand impotently by while a regressed Steve—Stevie—cowered in pain, reliving the terror he endured at the hands of that bullying bastard. 

“I think you can put the cleaning off for a while,” Phil suggested, watching him closely. He exchanged glances with Thor, and Tony knew what they were saying even if they weren’t saying. 

“Right. Right. Put the cleaning off. So I can go to sleep, right?” _As if._

“Why don’t you just go be with Steve? I think that’s the best medicine for both of you right now. Anything else can wait.”

Tony nodded, realizing that was the only thing he really _could_ picture himself doing. In fact, he was anxious now to go and make sure Steve’s eyes really were open . . . that he really was breathing. “I think I will.” He nodded at Thor, pointing towards the wheelchair and its weary but wise occupant. “You got this, right?”

“Indeed.”

Tony bent down, flicking a few switches on the chair’s mechanism. “What are you doing?” Phil protested.

“Locking down your manual control, Ironsides. Your chauffer here has the con.”

“Stark.” Phil’s gray complexion and slight tremor in his good hand belied the tough-guy scowl he was trying to maintain.

“You can grit your teeth all you want, but you need rest just as much as you say I do. No more detours. He’s taking you straight to bed. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars? What the fuck can anyone do with two hundred dollars? Why haven’t they upgraded that game to factor in inflation statistics? And why should you get paid just for passing Go anyway?”

Tony maneuvered around the chair as Thor took hold of the handles to push Phil out of the kitchen. They parted ways in the entry hall, Tony hitting the stairs as Thor turned Phil in the direction of his suite. Pausing halfway up, Tony turned. “Hey, Thor?”

“Yes?”

“You might not want to go in your suite until the cleaning crew gets in there.” A blur of flying Elmos and packing peanuts flittered quickly through his mind. “Whatever. You do most of your partying in the guest house anyway, right?” Thor was looking at him expectantly, like he _knew_ something. All high and mighty and god-like, thinking he knew Tony wanted to really say something else. Ha. Not likely. He bounced up two more steps, stopping again, turning. Thor was still staring at him. Smug bastard. “So, um, you really believe all that stuff about his aura being restored and the worst being over?”

“I do.”

Tony tried to let that in, but his inner skeptic wasn’t buying. “I still don’t, but thanks for trying.” One more step. Another turn. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Thor didn’t look as kaput as the rest of the team, but he still looked pretty greasy and stepped on. Tony hadn’t missed the emotional toll the big guy worked to keep in check when they were in the trenches with Steve. Probably didn’t help that Tony had been using him for target practice through much of the ordeal. “You did pretty good up there— _Teddy_. I owe you.”

Thor pushed the shaggy strays that had come loose from his lopsided hairband back off his clammy forehead, his eyes not as bright as usual, but still kind as he smiled. “You owe me nothing.”

Tony didn’t have any smiles, but he nodded, grateful. They’d come a long way from their first meeting, when Thor had tried to use his mighty hammer as a can opener on Tony’s suit and Iron Man countered by attempting to blast Thor back to the stone age. “Hey, look at us, having a moment.” It still irked Tony how Thor had tried to put his Asgardian moves on Steve before they got together—though the guy did have the decency to step off once Tony’d staked his claim. All in all, he was a pretty good guy. God. Alien. Whatever. “Let’s not make a habit of this, though.”

Thor laughed good-naturedly. “Go rest, my friend.”

“Bed, Stark,” Agent ordered as he was wheeled away.

“Back at’cha, Agent.” 

~0~0~0~ 

“What the fuck!”

Tony couldn’t believe what he had walked in on. He stood in the doorway, gaping, wondering if he was having some kind of mind-altered episode. He couldn’t be _that_ tired, could he? Sure did look like Steve up out of his sick bed, standing for the first time in days—with a couch hoisted over his head.

“Look, Tony! This isn’t even heavy. I still have my serum.”

 _Oh, crap._ When Steve had awoken, certain his serum was gone, they were worried he was having another episode, but no one was quick to enlighten him. Better to let him rest and recover than risk something exactly like, oh, _this_.

“Yeah, big newsflash,” Tony responded, all systems on full alert. “Now put the couch down, Steve.”

“But this doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. Not even my head.”

Worried that Steve’s burst of strength would lapse at any moment, causing him to drop the couch on his noggin—inducing another concussion that could leave them right back where they started—Tony spoke sharply, wanting to make sure Steve understood exactly what he needed to do. “Put . . . the . . . couch . . . down . . . now.”

“Fuck,” he heard Barton groan from beside him. His eyes remained on Steve, not releasing his pent breath until the couch had been set safely back on the floor. Then he turned on the man who was trying to inch quietly towards the door, letting him have it with both barrels.

“Is this your doing? What the fuck, Barton? You were alone with him for what? Five fucking minutes? And what? How did that conversation go? ‘Hey, Steve, you almost died. How about we put a little wager on whether or not you can lift that couch over there?’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tony was so furious, he was shaking. Part of him wanted to reach out and wring Barton’s neck. Really wanted to. One of the few voices inside him who wasn’t batshit crazy reminded him his anger was about the whole situation, not Barton, and he was only looking for a target. Focusing hard on not killing Clint, he didn’t even sense Steve coming closer until his big hands were wrapped around Tony’s waist. The next thing he knew, he was eye-level with the ceiling fan, flying without his suit.

“Tony, it’s okay. See?”

Did Steve truly believe bench pressing him was reassuring? Being as mindful of Steve’s tenuous condition as he could, considering his TNT fuse of fear and anger was running out of rope, Tony mustered a semi-calm, but very clear tone. “Do you mind putting me back down?”

“ _Um_ , yeah, before you do that, let me get a head start,” Clint requested nervously. The coward was looking to beat a hasty retreat before Tony’s feet were back on solid ground. Smart play. Barton was already straddling the doorway as Steve began carefully lowering Tony. “I think I hear Phil calling me. Be right there, Phil. Gotta go, guys.”

“Yeah, you better run, Barton,” Tony growled, considering giving chase when Clint took off down the stairs, but then Steve’s hand was on his face and his brain short-circuited.  

“Tony, I’m okay.” Those blue eyes that could make him forget his own name were staring into his, clear and bright, a level of sincerity in their depths only Steve could pull off. Steve obviously believed he was well. Tony wanted to believe, too. A part of him wanted to trust in those eyes and let everything else go, but that wasn’t the part in control. Tony had no idea how Bruce managed his anger on a minute by minute basis because, for the last few days, his own rage had been feeding off his fear, forging a lethal combination.

“Really? You’re okay? And you _know_ this, right? Like you knew it when they released you from the hospital? Or the way you knew when we got back to the tower? How about the way you knew it on the plane? Or even when we arrived here on beautiful Not-Fiji Isle? You knew then, too, right? Because you just _know_.”

 _What the hell am I doing?_ The surly words rang in his ears. He wanted to smack the asshole screaming at Steve. _And that asshole would be? Oh, yeah, me._ For days he had been terrified he was going to lose Steve, yet at the first sign of wellness he yelled at him? What the hell? Felt like he was watching a bad episode of reality television and the dumbass Tony-character was making a jerk of himself. Even crazier, Steve didn’t seem mad. In fact, he looked contrite.

“You’re right. I _don’t_ know. I got carried away, excited about the serum—”

“I already told you, I don’t give a rat’s ass about serum.” He was yelling again, his body so tense he hurt from the strain. He _didn’t_ care about serum. Fuck serum. “Serum, no serum, whatever. I need _you_ to be okay, don’t you get it?”

The fucking serum had been hurting Steve as much as helping him—that and Thor’s damn Asgardian moonshine. Both had been caught up in a power play inside Steve, only caring about supremacy, not giving a damn that they were tearing him apart in the process. Tony hated serum. He hated his father for helping them pump the poison into Steve. He hated Asgardians and their magical mystery tour medicines, and he hated everyone for giving up and not bothering to rescue Steve from the cold-gray icy hell, but he mostly hated himself for letting Thor pour that shit into Steve in the first place.

“I do,” Steve said softly, Tony barely hearing him over the screaming in his head. He felt Steve’s arms come around him and his body turned to ice in spite of how fucking sweat-soaked he was. This was all wrong. All of it. Steve was comforting him when it should have been the other way around. He was screwing up again. Big time. What was he now, mute? Since when did his glib mouth not work? Steve was still talking, and he was fucking mute. “I’ve got a pretty thick skull, but I promise it’s sinking in.”

_No, no, no. Say something. Do something. My poor Steve. You didn’t do anything wrong._

“I have put you through hell, I know. A hell that’s not going to fade just because I can lift a sofa. I will do whatever you need me to do. You call the shots.”

 _Not your fault, baby._ Please _tell me I said that out loud._

Tony felt Steve’s arms releasing him, felt him pulling away. He willed his own arms to obey his command and halt the retreat, but his brain was off-line. He watched, still voiceless, as Steve climbed back into bed—his sick bed—the bed Tony thought he was going to die in. How many times this week had Coulson called him aside and tried to convince Tony he was handling this? That he wasn’t screwing up? _No! Agent was wrong._ The knot that had taken up permanent residence in his gut refused to loosen. Any minute, Steve was going to slip away again despite how sweet he looked tucking himself into the bed, speaking patiently, as if Tony was the one who needed protection.

“See? Back in bed. For as long as you want me here. I’ll eat soup and sleep and I won’t lift a thing for as long as it takes. Promise. If you want, you can put a thermometer in my mouth, an ice bag on my head, and a hot water bottle on my stomach like my mom used to do when I was a kid. I won’t complain. Not even a little.”

As if Steve complained. Steve endured. That’s who Steve was. Tony turned his back to him, fearful Steve would notice how hard he was shaking, how much Tony Stark sucked at enduring. The serum and the moonshine and the illness, they had all fooled Tony before. Each time he thought Steve was coming back to him, the fever would hit again . . . or the cold . . . or his blood pressure would plummet . . . or the vomiting would consume him, powerful retching that would have torn the insides out of anyone else.

_Stop being a fucking wuss. Man up, Stark. Shut this crazy shit down, now!_

His little panic-fest in the kitchen must have affected him more than he thought, but Tony internally slapped himself. Weird, having to fight for words when usually they rolled off his tongue at breakneck speed. “Not necessary,” he finally choked out, pushing for more. “The water bottle and all. Not now. Maybe later.”

“Sure.”

Steve deserved better than this. Tony _wanted_ to be better than this for Steve. Wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Sorry for being a jackass.”

“You’re being amazing.” Steve sounded genuinely awed. “You got me an Elmo.”

 _Elmo._ Yeah, talk about nearly coming off the spool. The whole incident was crazy enough to almost be funny. Almost. _I succeeded, though. Got that damned Elmo for Steve. Yeah, for Steve. Sure._ “Barton didn’t tell you that story, did he?” Barton had to know. Coulson would have shielded Tony’s secrets, even from his husband, but Romanoff knew. What she knew, Clint usually knew in swift fashion.

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“Will you tell me . . . sometime?”

Tony’s knee-jerk response was _hell, no!_ Like he’d be stupid enough to give Steve another reason to question his poor choice of mate. But then he pictured a scenario where Steve was truly well and Tony was so on top-of-the-world, shit-fucking happy, the entire situation might actually be funny. Wouldn’t that be something? Begrudgingly, he muttered, “Maybe.”

“Fair enough. Feel like coming over here and keeping me and Elmo company?”

_He shouldn’t have to ask, jackass. What the hell is wrong with you? All you want to do is be with him. It’s all you’ve wanted pretty much from the moment you laid eyes on him . . . and this week? You’ve been terrified to blink because you couldn’t bear for him to be out of your sight. Yet you’re standing here, and he’s alone there. Get yourself together. Now!_

Tony took a long, deep breath, forcing his body to calm. “Sure.” He turned, seeing Steve still tucked into bed, the grinning red furball tucked in his arm now. Steve really did seem to get comfort from the cheap toy, so maybe he had done something right?

Wearily, he started to make his way toward the bed, which felt a mile away. He was practically dragging his heavy limbs. It wasn’t helping that his clothes were saturated in sweat and sticking to him like flypaper.

 “Hey, Tony? Do you think it would be okay to open the balcony doors for a little while? I’d love to hear the ocean.”

The words were odd and Tony stared at Steve. They had been careful to keep any trace of cold away from Steve. Even when he was burning with fever, his body would shiver from the chill when anyone attempted to wipe him down with cool clothes. He had spent most of his time in the villa buried under a pile of blankets or baking in the sun. But he didn’t presently look cold—the opposite actually. Still, Tony was skeptical. _Does he want the doors open for me? Because I look like I took a four-day sauna with my clothes on?_

On the other hand, Steve didn’t ask for much, not even when he was writhing in pain half out of his mind. Would it kill Tony to open the damn doors for him? Did he really need to ruminate over everything? When did he become fucking Hamlet? He slogged towards the balcony, yanking open the doors. The fresh, salty air smacked him right in the face. It might have even felt good, though he wasn’t sure. _Whatever._

He got into bed carefully, not wanting to crowd Steve. He knew he was rank, so he shoved the pillow between them. It was one thing to be this gross around Steve when he was unconscious or unaware, but right now Tony couldn’t risk being the cause of the return of his nausea. What he really needed to do was shower, but the moment his limbs sunk into the mattress, he wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to get upright again.

“Will you take a nap with me?” Steve asked softly.

Tony’s battery pack was fully discharged, as was the auxiliary battery, yet he wasn’t sure he could sleep. His eyes scanned the disheveled room, recalling how every last pillow and chair came to be out of place. A battle was fought in here over the last two nights. Had they truly achieved victory or simply a temporary cease-fire? “I don’t know. Was going to have them come up and clean this room.”

“That’s fine, too.”

Then again, he had already decided downstairs it wasn’t a good idea to march a cleaning crew through here when Steve had barely been awake and alert for an hour. “Probably should wait, though. You tired?”

“I could sleep.”

Steve was being agreeable about everything, but the small talk felt strained. There were so many important things to say. Why couldn’t Tony say any of them? He realized a part of him was afraid of Steve . . . to look at him . . . to touch him. Why? _Because if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. If I move this pillow and find he’s really still in a coma next to me, I’ll lose what’s left of my mind._

“Tony?”

“ _Hmmm_?”

“Could I maybe sleep a little closer to you?”

_Shit. Shit. Shit. What is wrong with me? I am such a tool. Am I seriously making him ask me for comfort after everything he’s been through? Like it’s some favor I’d be doing him? How the hell did he ever get stuck with me?_

_No, no, no, no fucking pity party. Poor Tony. This isn’t about poor fucking Tony. Poor fucking, fucked-up, Tony. Okay, I’ve totally crossed over into bonkers zone. I’m babbling inside my head. Focus, Stark. Get it together. You’re strung out. True. But you can do this. I can do this. Just have to remember all the shit Agent has been drumming into my head. Breathe. Focus. Find the honest feeling. Touch it. Go with it. Don’t second guess. Don’t third guess. Don’t tenth guess._

_Steve wants to be closer to me. I want to be closer to him. Simple. Move the pillow._

_Move over. Do it._

_But what if—_

_Not buts. No fears. No demons. Simple steps. Step one: Move closer to Steve._

Tony picked up the pillow, moving it to his other side as he scooched closer to Steve. He refused to allow himself to believe this was a dream. Steve was beside him. He was talking. He was breathing. Curling onto his side, Tony snuggled against Steve’s arm. The flesh beneath his cheek felt warm, but not too warm. Certainly not cold. He lifted his reluctant arm, setting his palm upon Steve’s chest. The heartbeat beneath his hand was strong, steady. He focused on the rhythm, pushing the other noise from his mind. Finally, he found what he hoped were appropriate words.

“Sorry, baby. M’gonna do better. I’m just . . . . I don’t know.”

How could he explain what he didn’t understand? Even he wasn’t that smart. What good was being a fucking genius if he couldn’t unravel something this important? Steve’s hand fell over his, the touch reassuring. When fur lightly tickled his fingertips, he remembered Steve had Elmo tucked under his arm.

“You’re fine, sweetheart. Just rest.”

No recrimination. No judgment. Steve had a way of cutting through the clutter in Tony’s head, his presence clear and strong and undeniable, even now. At his touch, Tony’s tension eased, his body going lax, practically collapsing into the warmth of Steve. Steve was like—like—like nothing else. There weren’t words for Steve, really. Well, maybe the only ones that mattered, the words climbing up from his twisting gut, making their way through his strained throat and parched lips. “I love you so much.” He’d been afraid of the words these last few days, afraid the higher-ups in charge of such things as fate and love would deem Tony Stark not worthy and rip everything from him. It didn’t seem implausible at all that the universe would send him a superhero only to break him, reminding Tony that nothing was safe; life was nothing more than fragile bits.

_“The truth is, my name is Tony Stark and I am in love with Steve Rogers.”_

Visions of the press conference came back to him like a slideshow. Less than a week ago—felt like a lifetime. Flashbulbs. Microphones. Throng of clawing people. The rumble of collective voices uttering variations of astonishment. The true astonishment was Steve; handsome and heroic, barely up from his hospital bed, braving the pandemonium, taking Tony in his arms in way that declared to the world Tony Stark was worthy of the truest form of love, then sealing that love with an astounding kiss. 

Steve could have stayed in the shadows; he was _supposed_ to lay low, but that’s not Steve Rogers. When Tony was out on the frontlines, Captain Rogers walked boldly out there with him, 1940s sensibilities be damned. Steve was a private person who still believed in things like morality and discretion. He sure as hell didn’t have any desire to splash his innermost self all over the Twitterverse and become an instant media celebrity in a world where privacy no longer existed. Didn’t matter. Steve stood up beside Tony at the press conference because it was the moral choice, the brave choice.

_And because he loves me._

The idea of Steve loving him was still nuts. How did a guy like that manage to see anything worth loving in Tony Stark, the man who had screwed up more than half of his life with the Big D’s: Drugs, drinking, decadence, and debauchery? Tony Stark and Steve Rogers? Who’da thunk? The self-indulgent playboy and the heroic boy scout.

They were quite a pair.

Somehow, it was working, though. Yeah, Tony could still find a thousand ways to screw things up, and sure, this week confirmed the danger ingiving his shrapnel-laden heart _completely_ to someone, because anything or anyone could be taken from him in a blink.

Didn’t matter.

They still worked. Steve believed they were destined. Tony leaned more towards believing he got a lucky break. Whatever. He knew a good thing when he had one. He had no intention of letting anything—not skull-splitting, or serum, or moonshine, or ghost daddies, or even his own screwed-up psyche— _nothing_ was taking Steve from him.

Wouldn’t have mattered if the fucking serum _had_ packed up and deserted him like Steve thought it did. Tony was never going to bail. He _didn’t_ bail. Who would have believed he was made of the kind of stuff that could stick it out through a situation like this and not lose it?

_Okay, maybe I lost it a little._

_Maybe a lot._

Tony realized he’d dozed for a second, but he was aware now; aware Steve was still awake beside him. That wasn’t a good sign. Steve had to rest. He had to get better. He sure as hell couldn’t fall asleep if he thought Steve might slip out of bed and start playing catch with the couch again. “You’re not sleeping,” he complained, nudging the arm he was resting upon with his cheek. He slid his hand out from under Steve’s, his fingers crawling blindly until he detected the fuzzy red bastard tucked under Steve’s arm. He got a hold of its head and moved its mouth as he spoke in the Elmo voice that had insidiously invaded his brain. “Elmo says sleep.”

“I’ve been asleep a long time, Elmo. I was thinking maybe I’d try something different. Watch Tonysleep for a while.”

“Boring,” Tony grumbled in his own voice, moving his hand to Steve’s face. He flattened his palm over his Steve’s eyes, trying to encourage him to close them, gratified when Steve complied.

“Cutie,” Steve whispered, pressing a soft kiss into his palm before he lifted his hand by the wrist. Tony would have objected, but Steve set the hand back upon his own chest where Tony could once again feel the steady cadence of his heartbeat. “One thing our life is never going to be—not even on vacation—is boring.”

If he had had the energy, Tony would have smiled. Steve had a point. At the moment, Tony couldn’t care about vacations or what was exciting versus boring. He cared that Steve was breathing, his heartrate felt steady, his skin wasn’t too hot or cold to the touch, and he didn’t seem to be in any pain or distress. As long as those things remained constant, nothing else mattered. He had started to succumb to the exhaustion threatening to smother him when he felt Steve stiffen then twist uncomfortably.

Tony’s head immediately popped up, his senses coming back online rapidly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“ _Um_ , nothing. I mean, not wrong. Maybe right, I guess. I, um—”

“Tell me,” Tony demanded, his worry heightening.

“I need to pee.”

It took a minute to comprehend the significance, but then Bruce’s repeated litany of “Do you need to urinate?” echoed back through his mind and his tension crumbled to laughter. “I should wake Banner.”

“Don’t you dare.” Steve was laughing, too.

“All right. But maybe we should save him some. You know, like a present. In a jar. With a card. To Our Favorite Pee-vert.”

“To- _nee_.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Can I get up, please? I don’t want upset you again, but I gotta go . . . _now_.”

Tony scrambled to get upright, the room spinning. “Okay, okay. I’ll get the wheelchair. No, I’ll get Thor. No, wait, Bruce had that penis-shaped plastic jug thing around here someplace.” Tony panicked. He had _no_ idea what he was supposed to do. His laughter from a moment ago morphed to anxious panting.

“Tony. Honey.” Steve’s voice was calm. Reasonable. He sat up slowly, taking Tony’s chin between his fingers, forcing him to look into his eyes. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to stand up slowly. If anything feels unsteady, I will sit back down and we’ll form a new plan. But if all systems are go, I’m going to walk to the bathroom—slowly. I’ll pee in the toilet—no jars, no jug, no saving—I’ll wash my hands, and I’ll come back to bed. A minute, tops. You’ll stay here, because currently you don’t look steady enough to get on your feet. I’m putting you in charge of Elmo. Are we a go on this?”

It wasn’t Steve talking to him, and certainly not Stevie. This was Captain America, laying out the mission, calm, cool, and precise. Tony could do little but nod, even his fears reluctant to thwart such a well-laid plan. At his nod, Steve smiled and kissed his forehead, then handed Elmo over to him.

True to his word, Steve was back in a minute, maybe less. Tony’s nervous fingers hadn’t had time to pluck even a strand of red fur off Elmo. “Mission accomplished?” he asked, feeling completely inept.

“Yeah.” Steve looked pretty proud of himself. “No setbacks.”

“S’good,” Tony muttered, not comfortable with how fast the room was spinning.

Steve settled back into bed, pulling Tony and Elmo down with him, snuggling Tony’s head to his chest this time. He didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy.

“If I remember correctly, we were about to take a nap, right?”

Tony closed his eyes, blocking the nauseating sea of fast moving colors from his vision. “Prolly not a bad idea.” He thought he might have said something else, but he wasn’t sure. Steve was breathing, nice and even. His heart was pumping steadily.

Good enough.

 

~0~0~0~


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s eyes flew open, heart racing. His scream had rousted him from sleep, and he was mortified. Everyone else in the villa had finally settled down for some much-needed rest. The last thing he needed to be doing was launching another full-scale alert. He sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to calm down and remember what he had been dreaming about that set him off.

Belatedly, he realized the screaming wasn’t coming from him.

He turned to the thrashing jumble of limbs beside him, trying to get hold of Tony, but before he could get a full grip, a hammer-wielding Asgardian in neon swim trunks flew in through the open balcony doors, followed half a second later by an armed assassin with wet red hair, dressed in a tee shirt—and nothing else—bursting through the suite door.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Natasha inquired tensely from a shooting stance, aiming her weapon toward different sections of the room as her eyes scanned for threats.

“Steven, are you well? Do you require assistance?”

“It’s not me,” Steve called, ducking a flying elbow as he tried to wrap his arms around Tony without hurting him.

“I will assist,” Thor offered, coming towards the bed.

“No. Not a good idea. In fact, both of you need to get out of here before he wakes up. He’s not real comfortable about his nightmares being public knowledge.” Steve recalled clearly how Tony secluded himself for days after the nightmare incident on Staten Island. “Tony, sweetie, it’s me. It’s Steve.” He held Tony fast, keeping him from flailing, but he could tell he was still trapped in the dream.

“But you are barely up from your own sick bed,” Thor pointed out, concerned.

After another scan of the room, Natasha lowered her weapon, heedless of the fact she was more naked than clothed. Steve kept his eyes trained on her face. “Thor’s right.”

“Please,” Steve pleaded, rocking Tony, running his fingers through his hair to try and ease his distress. “I’m good. Mark has brought me soup twice and dry toast. I’m up to three bottles of water. You can tell Bruce I even urinated.”

“Thankfully, I put my earbuds on him, so he’s still asleep. I think Coulson and Barton are as well, but I’m on my way to check on them. Congrats on your piss output.” She smiled and winked at him, heading for the door. “Let me know if you need back-up.”

“Thanks, Natasha.”

Tony’s screams had muted to whimpers, but he was shaking now. Thor went into the bathroom, coming out with a wet cloth, which he handed to Steve. “These days have been most trying for him.”

“I know.” Steve reached for the cloth, passingit over Tony’s sweat-drenched face. “Come on, sweetheart, wake up for me. You’re safe.”

“I shall leave him in your capable hands.” Thor leaned over the bed, setting a hand lightly on Tony’s shoulder and whispering something Steve couldn’t hear, but Tony’s body finally ceased thrashing. Thor stepped back, walking towards the balcony. “Call upon me if you require anything.”

“I will, thanks. And thanks for listening for us. You really should be catching some zeesyourself, though.”

“I shall, after a bit of air.”

Steve knew they had been cooped up in this hot room for days. Must have felt great for Thor to take flight in the fresh air. He wasn’t a big fan of flying, but the idea sounded good even to him. Not that he would leave this bed or this room until Tony was convinced he was well enough. Right now, Tony was his only concern. He kissed the back of his neck gently, coaxing him again to wake as Thor took his leave out the window. “Tony, I need you to wake up for me. Can you do that?”

“Steve?”

“I’m right here.”

Tony’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze unfocused. He looked depleted, as if he didn’t have the energy to come to full wakefulness. Steve didn’t care as long as the nightmare had released him. “Don’t die,” Tony pled mournfully.

“Not planning to. You promised me a vacation, remember?”

Tony’s hand trembled as he reached up, palm flattening over Steve’s mouth and nose, forefinger poking him in the eye. “Lots vacations, ‘kay?”

“Sure. After lots of sleeping. Close your eyes.” He kissed Tony’s open palm then set the hand back down to Tony’s side. He yanked Elmo out from under Tony’s hip where he had landed in the fray and set him on the table beside the bed.

“No dying,” Tony insisted with as much strength as he looked to possess.

Steve’s eyes moistened as he gazed down at the depth of pain and fear in Tony’s heavy-lidded eyes. He laid down, snuggling Tony close, pulling the sheet over both of them. “I’m right here. Not dying. Promise.”

He probably shouldn’t promise things he had no control over, but Tony had been through enough and needed to rest. He was relieved Tony fell back asleep quickly, having never fullyawoken. He was calm now, at least as much as Steve could tell without being able to peek inside his head.

He’d put Tony through so much—well, all of them, really, but especially Tony. _“Don’t die.”_ Tony really had believed Steve was dying. Heck, he’d believed it himself a few times. Difficult as his ordeal had been, though, Tony’s had been worse. Steve _knew_ what it felt like to watch someone you love die. He understood the helplessness, the anger, the despair, the anguish. You just wanted to _do_ something—fix it somehow. He would have happily traded places with his mom rather than sit at her bedside and watch her slowly slip away. All those years she had taken care of him, but in her last days there was little he could do but watch the sickness steal her from him.

He looked over toward the sofa where he had dreamt she had been sitting. Or was it a dream? Logic would say he conjured it all in his delirium—her voice, her presence, her appearance, her words. He knew Thor would have a different explanation. _What do I believe?_

The vestiges of his ordeal still clung to him, but there was a sense of peace within as well. Something profound had happened to him, he knew that much. Something bigger than illness. He needed time to come to terms with the enormity, but he already knew he had evolved, stronger for coming through the darkest dark—or the coldest gray. He thought about the beach; about his mother, and Dr. Erskine, and the pencils—and his father. Having clearer memories of his father wasn’t particularly comforting, but there was strength in knowing. Maybe Thor was right and the whole experience was some kind of gift, even the hardest, ugliest parts. Or maybe the whole thing was simply the horrible side-effects of a potent drug mixed with super serum. What was really going to matter would be what he did with the experience moving forward.

He looked towards the door as he heard it open softly. Mark was back to check his vitals and bring his latest ration of food and water. He supposed thinking of it as rations made it sound more punitive than was the intention. Bruce was being cautious and Steve had agreed to the prudent measures to insure everyone would rest easy. He had expended too much effort downplaying his symptoms and trying to hide his condition from his team to be considered a trustworthy source regarding his health for the time being.

“How are you feeling, Cap?” Mark whispered, cognizant of the sleeping form plastered to Steve’s side.

“Very good,” he answered, equally soft, glad Tony hadn’t budged.

Mark set down the tray long enough to check Steve’s pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. “All still tip-top,” he reported, pleased. Pointing towards the tray and then to Tony, he asked, “How do you want to do this?”

“With a little help, I think I can manage one-handed.” He had no intention of letting Tony go, or even shifting him over, refusing to disturb the much-needed slumber even if it meant going without eating.

Mark shifted the pillows behind Steve enough that he could get into a half-sitting position, one arm still around Tony, whose face was still resting on his chest. “You get crackers this time. And noodles.”

He knew Mark was trying to be upbeat while following Bruce’s strict instructions, so Steve didn’t complain that what he really wanted was a side of beef in his soup. “Can you break them up and just toss them in the bowl, please?”

Mark did just that. “Do you want the tray this time?”

“No. Just hand me the bowl.” Steve took the bowl in one hand, passing on the offered spoon, instead sipping the contents down in four gulps. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry. That wasn’t very polite.” If his mom were still talking to him, he knew exactly what she would have made of his uncivilized table manners, but he hoped she would understand Tony’s undisturbed rest was his priority.

“No worries, Cap. You know, if you want I could let Dr. Banner know your vitals are great and you’ve been tolerating the bland diet very well. Maybe we could get you something more substantial?”

“Not necessary.” The constant pang of hunger since his fever broke had been a challenge, but—aswith any pain or discomfort—it could be managed with focus. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to wake Bruce.

“All right. But let me know if you need anything else.” He handed Steve two more bottles of water. “I’ll be back in an hour, unless you need me sooner.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you so much. How’s Phil?”

“Sound asleep at last check.”

“Good to know.”

Steve downed a bottle of water while watching Mark pick up the tray and exit as quietly as he’d entered. He could already feel the effects of the nourishment on his starved system. Each time he’d taken in calories, he felt the impact inside, not in the sickly way food had been overloading and nauseating him during his illness, like a foreign body that needed expelled—fast. No, this was a welcoming sensation, nourishing, strengthening. The fluid was having a similar effect, though he could tell his thirst tank was barely a quarter full.

He decided it was for the best he was currently only taking in limited sustenance. He was having a difficult enough time keeping his body at rest when each new intake of nourishment fortified him. His body wasn’t only crying out for food and fluid, but for physical activity as well. If he had been given more calories, the impulse to burn them would have multiplied.

He took a deep, calming breath, centering himself. He was going to keep his promise to Tony and the others, but, in a way, his body’s steady revitalization reminded him of how he felt after he was first infused with the serum. Having never known that kind of physical well-being and strength before, it had been difficult figuring out how to rein it in. Everything within burned to DO: He couldn’t run fast enough, jump high enough, lift things that were heavy enough. He’d broken far too many doors, destroyed chairs, put holes in walls, damaged gym equipment, crushed cups, knives, and spoons, and unwittingly flipped a jeep on its side from crashing into it too hard.

_That was a long . . . lonnng . . . time ago._ Steve learned to master the ability to keep his serum-fueled power in check, putting the safety of the objects and people around him to the forefront. He had no worries about harnessing his quickly rejuvenating strength, even as his insides twitched and burned with rebirth. He could do this for Tony. For Tony, he could do anything.

He kissed the top of Tony’s head. “I’d never hurt you, angel-mine.” He wasn’t surprised to find his mother’s term of endearment coming from his lips as he whispered to his sleeping love. He knew his mother approved of Tony; knew it in his heart where she lived, breathing her love and light and goodness into him every single day, a gift he’d never again take for granted. Steve had been his mother’s angel, and Tony was his. _Angel-mine_. It felt right. “And I’m not gonna let you down again, either.” He paused, heeding his mother’s familiar reproof, correcting himself the way she would have expected—he was never allowed to sound like a _Brooklyn punk_. “I’m not _going to_ let you down.” 

He pressed his palm to Tony’s chest, settling it atop the grungy, sweat-stained tee-shirt Tony had been wearing since . . . too long. Steve felt pretty grungy himself, but sleep had to come first for Tony, so his shower would have to wait. _Maybe I’ll take two showers later. Or maybe just stand in the shower all day. Yeah, that would be nice._

He let his fingers play over the outline of the arc reactor, remembering clearly the first time Tony let him touch it. He was as awed by it then as he was now, this device that protected his lover’s heart. From here on out, he intended to pull his weight in that department, protecting Tony’s heart, a job he felt honored to be tasked with.

 

~0~0~0~


	3. Chapter 3

“Burn them.”

“Your clothes? We’re not burning clothes, Tony.”

Tony huffed, slumped on the marble seat in the shower, letting the water slosh over him like he’d been doing for the past. . . .Thirty minutes? Forty? Fifty? He had no accurate data. He leaned forward, using his hand to cut a swath through the foggy condensation accumulated on the glass door so he could see Steve better. “Why are you picking up my clothes anyway?”

“Just tidying up in here.” At Tony’s frown, Steve dropped the handful of soiled clothing and towels into the laundry basket before sitting down guiltily atop the toilet seat. “Sorry. Sitting back down now.”

Tony tried to ignore how chipper and plain fucking healthy Steve looked, still convinced it was nothing more than a tempting deception. Not a fallacy perpetuated by Steve. No. Steve was the innocent pawn. That damn Asgardian moonshine was the culprit. Or maybe the serum. Likely both. Joining forces. Trying to trick them all into a false sense of security. Some of the others were fooled, but not Tony. He was too shrewd. Besides, how could he be sure he was even fully awake? This was probably a crazy conjured fantasy. When he stepped out of the fog of the shower, Steve would be on the floor, convulsing in pain and talking to ghosts. Cautiously, he took another peek through the sliver of clear glass, finding Steve still sitting there. Watching him.

“Tony, are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I should be helping you.”

“You _did_ help me.”

Tony shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Right.” He had been real helpful. When he’d finally climbed back to consciousness after sleeping for— “What time did you say it was again?”

“2035 hours.”

_8:35 p.m. Really?_ So must have been after close to eight hours of sleep when they came in here and the best he was able to do was sit on this marble bench beneath the spray watching Steve shower, telling himself he was at the ready in case Steve needed help, but in reality, he hadn’t moved at all, and might have even dozed off. At least he no longer had to worry about throwing inappropriate wood. His dick was DOA and he wasn’t too sure if he’d ever get it resuscitated. Didn’t really care, either. Weird. He hadn’t felt like that since—no, not going there.

He needed to get out of this shower. By any means necessary.

“You know what? Changed my mind. You should help me.”

“Sure.” Steve shot up and was at the shower door before Tony finished the request.

Taking a better look at him, Tony groused, “Except you’re already dressed.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get wet. Thanks to you, I’ve got lots of clothes. Or I could get undressed again. Or I could—”

“Forget it. I got this.” Tony forced himself to stand and reach for the soap. He was fucking capable of washing the scum off his grungy body.

“Tony,” Steve said softly, stepping inside the spacious glass shower stall clothes and all. “ _Please_ let me help you.”

Steve stood behind him, fingers taking hold of Tony’s wet shoulders, massaging gently. Felt good. But Tony wasn’t ready to feel good. Wasn’t going to do that. Especially not if this was a dream. “You know how you can help me,” he said slipping out from beneath the warm touch. “I need to deal with this.” He rubbed one hand over his grungy beard, turning to wipe off the mirror on the marble shower wall. “I can do it in here if you hand me my stuff.”

“Are you sure? You barely look steady enough to shower. Not sure I should be handing you sharp tools.”

Tony got a peek at Steve from the mirror. He looked amazing. Bright. Handsome. Alive. Alive was a biggie. But worried. _That one’s on me. I’ve got to pull this together._ “Yeah, I’m not quite right, which makes no sense, but I’ll get a handle on myshit. After I scrape the first three layers of filth off, I’ll think more clearly.”

“Take your time. Feel whatever you have to feel. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not be.” The surge of fear was unexpected, physically jarring Tony. He turned swiftly, needing to feel Steve, to assure himself. Too damn uncoordinated, he slipped on the soap trail oozing from the bottle of body wash he had dropped, crashing into Steve, getting him soaked. Steve didn’t seem to mind. His arms went around Tony and held tight enough for Tony to believe he was here . . . right here. He was, wasn’t he?

Without asking permission this time, Steve took the washcloth, picked up the soap and set about the task of getting Tony clean, shampooing his hair as well. Tony didn’t argue. He barely helped. Only part of him felt present, the other part somewhere else. Where? He didn’t know. Steve got him to agree to do his beard trimming at the sink, sitting down, rather than standing in the shower with wet hands fumbling razors and scissors. He still wound up nicking himself, but one little cut wasn’t going to kill him. At least he didn’t look like Grizzly Adams anymore.

Steve wasn’t real happy about the cut, but he didn’t gripe. Instead, he kissed it, which was kind of nice, then handed Tony some clothing, already in clean, dry clothes himself, which, _what the fuck, when did that happen?_ He looked good though: Aqua tank top, an open, cotton button-down over it colored with white and aqua stripes, white cotton shorts, bare feet. He looked handsome, chic even, which kind of made Tony miss the dorky, plaid _Sears_ clothes a little, and how did that make sense?

Looking down to his lap at the wad of clothing Steve had handed him, he decided, “I think I’m going to swim.” Decision made, he tossed the clothes he was holding to the floor and ransacked the walk-in closet, because he wanted the blue and white swim trunks—not the red, not the green stripes, not the one with the blue strings, not the four new designer ones made specifically for him by what’s-his-name. The French guy. _No. No. No. Not this one either._

“Tony,” Steve said with concern as he dodged the flying swimsuits and dared to step into the closet.

“I need the blue and white one,” he insisted, though he didn’t remember why it mattered. It just did. Because you should have the thing you need. Stuff shouldn’t be this damn complicated. What kind of fucking vacation was this, anyway?

“This one?” Tony turned, seeing Steve holding the exact bathing suit he was searching frantically for. He took it from Steve’s hand, looked hard at the trunks, then flipped them over his shoulder. The one with the green stripes would be better. He picked that suit up from the floor and shimmied into it before pulling on a black tee shirt.

“Okay, good to go,” he announced. “Where are we going again?”

“We’re getting out of this suite for a little while. We’re letting the staff clean it . . . and now this closet, too. I think a little air will do us both good. A change of scenery. I’m sure anxious for one.”

Steve looked adorably eager. How not? He’d been trapped in this suite for days, the majority of that time agonizingly unpleasant. The last eight hours were more spent babysitting Tony than really resting himself, though Steve had made a good show of playing at the latter. “Yeah, change of scenery,” Tony agreed, though his choice would have been to lock Steve away and never let him out in the world where anything bad could happen ever again. But going downstairs sounded less insane, so he went with that plan.

“Bruce said we were having a barbecue tonight. And that I could have a burger, maybe two.”

Right. Dr. Should-Mind-His-Own-Damn-Business had been up here about an hour ago checking on Steve, prattling on about how well he was doing. How someone as smart as Bruce could be fooled this easily was beyond Tony’s comprehension. _Probably just eager to get on with his fuck-fest vacation plans and doesn’t want to bother with poor Steve anymore . . . which is the most totally unfair thought I could possibly have right now. Delete. Delete. Delete. Reset._

“You really think you should be eating burgers?”

Steve’s face fell, like a kid who just got told he was on punishment with no dessert for a week, but he rallied quickly. “Um, well, I thought I’d try. But if you don’t think it’s a good idea, I understand. I’m letting you call the shots, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s me. The Big Bad Wolf.” _Denier of burgers. Rescinder of meat_. _Thanks, Banner._

“Not at all. You’re just worried about me. I understand.”

“Still feeling sure you’re magically cured, huh?”

Steve shrugged, brushing back his hair with two fingers in that way he does. “I’m cautiously optimistic. How’s that?”

“Sounds like Coulson is writing your script. Let’s go.”

They exited the disheveled suite, Tony noticing a marked difference in the air quality as they stepped into the hall. Maybe Steve was right. It was time for fresh air. Their suite was rank. Needed the full staff on major clean-up detail. Yeah, this was a good idea.

But then Steve hesitated on the top step of the staircase, gripping the hand-rail, and Tony’s heart took a nose-dive into his flip-flops, breath robbed from his lungs by what felt like a giant vacuum cleaner. “What’s wrong!”

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong,” Steve tried to reassure, but Tony wasn’t buying.

“Bullshit. What is it? What’s happening?”

The questions didn’t sound hollered in Tony’s head, but his voice must have carried, because, in a flash, Thor was fresh from the pool and racing his dripping way up the staircase and Bruce was at the bottom, calling to them in concern. And Steve . . . Steve was . . . laughing?

“I’m sorry, guys,” he was saying, hands up in appeasement. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to set foot on this staircase and I was just appreciating how great it feels to not be carried like a sack of potatoes.”

Then Thor was laughing, loud and hearty. Even Bruce was laughing. Steve was laughing harder when Thor ungraciously tossed him over his shoulder and ran down the stairs with him anyway, depositing him on his feet at the bottom of the staircase, all of them standing down there cracking up now. Like any of this was fucking funny?

Tony clutched the bannister in a white-knuckled grip, trying to remember how to breathe. Steve’s laughter suddenly cut short and he came back up the stairs, two at a time, reaching for Tony. “Tony, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. That was thoughtless.”

Tony pried his fingers loose from the bannister and dodged the outstretched hand, forcing his legs to move. “Forget it.” He started down the stairs, ignoring the uncomfortable silence he’d evidently set off in the villa. “I’m going to take a walk down to the staff house. Talk to Thomas and Marcella about what needs to be done.” He could have used the phone, but he needed the walk. Needed the exercise. Needed the air.

Needed the escape.

 

~0~0~0~


	4. Chapter 4

“I should go after him.” Steve started towards the door, feeling six kinds of awful for upsetting Tony not two minutes after finally getting him to let his guard down enough for them to leave the suite.

“The staff house is a short walk,” Bruce responded, taking hold of Steve’s arm. “Give him a little space.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve hadn’t exactly been a comfort to Tony. Still, if he wasn’t back in a few minutes, he would commence a search mission. He turned to say as much to Bruce, startled when he found himself staring right into the beam of Bruce’s trusty flashlight.“This again?”

“Tony’s not the only one wary of fully trusting your recovery.”

“Just the most unhinged one,” Natasha added as she passed them on her way towards the pool.

“I have no qualms,” Thor boasted. “The Captain of America appears stout and robust. Strong enough to wrestle a gornak!”

“I don’t want to wrestle anything.” Actually, something about that did sound appealing, but Steve was working hard to restrain his crackling energy.

“Sounds kind of fun, actually.”  Bruce looked twitchy as he put away his flashlight, and Steve knew he wasn’t the only struggling with cabin fever. “Are you still urinating regularly?”

Steve almost laughed, recalling Tony’s idea about saving his piss in jars and gifting it to Bruce. “Yes. And how long will I have to be well before my urinating routine goes back to being private?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

He followed Bruce and Thor out to the pool terrace. The walls beneath the pool water twinkled with illuminating light, and decorative lamps hung from lines overhead brought a lovely glow to the terrace, making everything visible despite the sun having gone down hours ago. The only thing you couldn’t see as clearly in the evening was the ocean, though the sky full of stars glimmered off the white foamy heads of the waves as they crashed to the shore below. The night was beautiful, enchanting, all the more because Steve felt well enough to appreciate it. Just standing up on his own two feet, no lethargy, no confusion, no pain, was a gift to be appreciated. Natasha had seated herself on the edge of the pool, her long skirt drawn up so she could dip her feet in the water. Mark and Carolyn were playing cards on a small table near Phil’s wheelchair. Phil was actually in the pool, being assisted with his water exercise by Walt, and soon Thor, who jumped back in with a splash that caused Natasha to frown.

“Looking good, Phil,” Steve called, impressed by how nimbly Phil was moving across the water despite swimming one-armed, with Walt spotting him.

“Looking good yourself,” Phil responded with a smile. “How do you feel?”

“Grateful to be upright.” Looking around, Steve asked, “Where’s Clint?”

“In the suite. Resting.”

“Boss grounded him ‘til tomorrow morning,” Natasha explained. “He’s almost as strung out as Stark, and operating on way less sleep since it practically took a tranquillizer dart to get him to go down at all.”

Poor Clint. Steve couldn’t help but feel responsible for the shadows of Clint’s past he helped stir, though he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. At his concerned expression, Natasha assured, “He’ll be all right, Cap. We’ll all see to that.”

“Sure will,” Steve vowed, taking a seat near the pool.

“I’m almost done with my reps and then I’ll be putting some meat on the grill,” Phil told him. “I hear you’re ready to graduate to the adult meal plan.”

“ _You’re_ grilling?”

“You think I can’t?”

“On the contrary, I think you can do anything you set your mind to.” Steve smiled. Phil still looked tired, but the downtime had helped. It was good to see him back on his exercise routine. “As for _my_ meal plan, we’ll see.” He could already smell the meat Phil hadn’t yet grilled, and his mouth was watering. But everything depended on Tony. He wasn’t going to do anything else to set him off tonight if he could avoid it. In fact, he was starting to worry that Tony hadn’t returned. He had just started to rise from his chair to go looking, when Natasha sprung to her feet, grabbing her wrap off the table and throwing it over her shoulders.

“I’ll find him,” she said, as if reading his mind. Steve tried to decide if that was the best idea, but before he could respond, she was already gone. 

~0~0~0~ 

“Hey, stranger, buy you a drink?”

Tony jolted, nearly falling down the front stairs where he had been sitting gazing at the stars. Damn, that woman was stealth. He hadn’t even heard the door open and close. She just appeared. A moment later, she materialized on the step next to him, seating herself at his side despite the lack of invitation on his part.

“How ‘bout a dozen drinks?” he answered dryly, though he had no intention of drowning himself, despite how tempting the proposition was.

“Settle for strong lemonade, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Are you spying on me, Agent Romanoff?”

“Just trying to figure out where you got off to.”

“When you figure it out, let me know.” Tony couldn’t remember why he left the villa in the first place, which pissed him off. He had sat down here determined to remember, but so far no luck.

“Not expecting any more packages from Miami, are you?”

She thought she was being funny. Tony wasn’t in a humorous mood and even if he was, his Elmo meltdown wouldn’t be on the top of his Comedy Highlights Reel. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Good, then you can come inside and join the rest of us. Cap’s worried about you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. “Maybe he’ll worry less if I subtract my bat-shit crazy ass from the equation for a while.”

“I don’t see it working that way.”

As much as he hated it, she was right. Steve would, no doubt, be the next person out here looking for him, and the last thing he wanted was to distress Steve more. Would help if he could figure out how the hell to stop doing it.

“The most intense missions are the hardest to shake,” she said, as if her bullshit spy experiences in any way qualified her to understand having to impotently watch the person you love be painfully ripped away from you. “Not like there’s an _off_ button afterwards.”

“Got it. No off button. Your work here is done.”

Unfortunately, Natasha wasn’t someone easily blown off. She tried a different tack. “You’ve come a long way, Stark. The man I met a few years back when I was placed undercover at Stark Industries—”

“AKA spying on me, _Natalie_.”

“—that man could have never held up under the emotional pressures this past week.”

“Oh, you mean the man you wrote the scathing Recruitment Assessment on for the _Avengers Initiative_? The one that labeled me unsuitable for recruitment to a team environment? The term “textbook narcissism” comes to mind, along with “self-obsessed” and “unable to focus on the needs or problems of others.”

“Hold a grudge much? That file was classified.”

Tony snorted. “Is that right, Mrs. Fury?”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s possible I may have been wrong in my evaluation. Happens occasionally.”

“Do tell.”

“Or, could be that Rogers brings the good out of you.”

“Something you weren’t capable of doing, based on your observations.”

“You’re a hard man to give a compliment to.”

“Is that what we’re doing here? Because I’m not interested in your findings, Agent Romanoff. Never was.”

Natasha looked around. “I don’t see any agents here. Just one teammate talking to another. I had my doubts at first—I’m cynical like that—but you’re good for Cap. I might even go as far as to say you’re worthy of him.”

“You _might_?”

“If you catch me in a good mood.”                                                                                        

Tony bit back the barbs that were itching to roll off his tongue. Natasha didn’t play at being friendly. For her, this was sincere. She was being decent to him . . . not for the first time this week, either. “There’s a possibility I pegged you wrong back then, too.” He stood up, growing antsy sitting still. He turned towards the ocean, sidestepping up and down on the same step. “Maybe.”

“Nothing like a good trial by fire to strengthen the ole team spirit.”

“Are you talking about the Battle or _this_ battle?”

“Yes.”

She actually managed to wrangle a grin out of him at that. “Not even sure which one was worse. That’s a lie. I’m sure.” He’d take drooling aliens and twisted would-be gods over indefensible threats to Steve’s psyche and existence any day.

“On this we agree.” She stood as well, though she remained completely still in contrast to his bouncing. “I’m not fond of threats to my team—especially ones I can’t shoot.”

Natasha was a cool customer, but Tony was learning to read between her icy Russian lines. ‘Team’ was easy. Translation: the only beings in this otherwise pathetic world I give a shit about. ‘Ones I can’t shoot’. Translation: I don’t _do_ impotence well. _Relate to you there, Nat. I solve problems, I don’t endure them._ ‘Not fond of.’ That was the key. Tony looked closer at her, noting she wasn’t quite as still as he’d first perceived. The paisley pattern pashmina was drawn tightly around her shoulders, as if to ward off a night chill—only there was barely a breeze. Her fingers where she clutched the edges of the fabric were strained, her thumbs twitching nearly imperceptibly. The Black Widow may have been better at freaking out inwardly rather than outwardly, but she wasn’t much more composed than he was.

_So who has her this on edge? Me? Doubtful. She takes me in stride even on her worst days. Thor? Ha! That’s a good one. Coulson? Always. She definitely maintains one eye on him, and rightfully so. Points to her for that. Barton? Yeah, where is Barton? He wasn’t with the others. I noticed that even as I was freaking my way out of the villa. Barton must be on the No Fly List and that’s got to be a concern. Steve? How not? They’re all trying to play it cool, but inside they’re suspicious of this miraculous revival. And then there’s Bruce. What has she seen that I haven’t noticed? Duh, everything, probably. My Steve-tunnel-vision doesn’t leave a lot of room for peripherals._

“So what’s up with Banner?” Tony wasn’t interested in small talk and he didn’t beat around the bush. If she was thrown by the sudden conversational shift, she gave no outward sign.

“He’s over-tired, stressed, on edge, like the rest of us.”

“Your little nap and nookie time together didn’t chill him out?”

“You’re choosing to be an ass right now; I mean, this is a conscious choice, right?”

“Ah, but it comes from the heart.”

“You know about his childhood . . . what his father did to him. You think it was easy for him witnessing Steve’s relived trauma—”

“I don’t think it was _easy_ for anybody, particularly _Steve_!” he snapped.

“Yeah, Steve. Cap. Our Cap. Captain of our _team_. The same team The Hulk plays for. Hulk likes Steve. A _lot_. And let’s see, what’s The Hulk’s impulse when someone he cares about is being hurt and made to suffer?”

Tony stopped jumping between steps, freezing in place. “Protect.”

“Exactly. So, genius, you think about just how much Bruce is containing and what the cost is, and then you talk to me about nookie.” She pulled the shawl tighter around herself and turned to leave.

“What do you want me to do?”

She stopped and turned back towards him. “I don’t expect you to _do_ anything.”

“Oh, yeah, you do. You want me to get with the program and drink the _Kool-Aid_ so I can say I think Steve is fully cured and hallelujah and let’s all do the happy jig and then send you all on your way to go have some playtime with The Hulk on Gilligan’s Deserted Island with my blessing so everyone can relieve their fucking stress, right? Because to hell with Steve and to hell with whether this shit isn’t finished with him and who cares if it comes back and actually kills him this time because, hell, those are the breaks, right?”

“Stark, what I really want you to do is _breathe_.”

When had she gotten in his face? When had her hands taken hold of his shoulders? Why the hell was he shaking this hard? What the fuck was wrong with him? “I’m breathing.” _No, I’m not. Okay, maybe a little. Breathing, yeah, I got this. I can do this._

“Tony, listen to me. I don’t expect any of those things, and neither does anybody else. What you need to do is take some deep breaths, pull your shit together, and come inside. Coulson is going to barbecue meat. We’re going to sit down together, like normal people, and eat this meat. You’re going to reach down and hold on to your balls, or whatever you have to do to sit still while Steve eats a hamburger, because the only way through this is one step forward at a time. If he has a setback, we _will_ deal with it. _When_ it happens, not before.”

Made sense. Her words made sense. This was doable. Stop looking at the entire schematic when what’s needed is laser focus on a particular task. “Meat. Balls. Burger. Got it.”

“Good.” She released him and started towards the door. “Oh, and try to slap some color back into your face. You look like a ghost, and we’ve had our fill of those.”

“Color? You didn’t say anything about color,” Tony whined as he trailed after her. “Meat. Balls. Burger. Now you’re adding stuff.” He slapped both cheeks with his hands. “I want to go on record as saying I don’t think it’s fair to change the contract mid-deal.”

“Duly noted,” she smiled as she opened the door for him.

 ~0~0~0~

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Phil, that was the most delicious hamburger I have ever eaten,” Steve declared, licking every last bit of juice from his fingers to be sure he didn’t miss any.

“Thank you. Though I think I could have charred my shoe and you would have enjoyed eating it,” Phil joked.

Steve looked down at his empty plate, abashed. He had been trying to tamp down his rampant hunger and eat in a civilized manner, while pointedly keeping his eyes off everyone else’s plates to avoid coveting the contents. Thor had helpfully chosen to dine in the kitchen with Walt, Carolyn, and Mark to Steve’s relief, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to watch his Asgardian friend pack away the steaks, burgers, and grilled chicken—oh, boy, did the chicken smell good—without drooling in envy. Only Phil, Bruce, Natasha, and Tony were sharing the round, outdoor table on the grilling terrace with him. Without meaning to, he had kept careful tally of every bit of food each had eaten, noting that Tony had only eaten half the steak on his plate and a handful of salad.

“Aren’t you enjoying yours?” Steve asked, unable to imagine how he couldn’t. The meat looked tender, juicy, cooked to just the right temperature, seasoned with a special marinade Phil had concocted, almost every ingredient of which Steve could pick out by glorious aroma alone.

Tony glanced guiltily at him, then looked back down at his plate and speared a bite, talking around the food as he chewed. “You’re a man of many talents, Agent. I’m especially impressed you whipped this up one-handed.”

“Had a little help from Thor.”

“Yeah, particularly in the design department.” Tony nodded towards where Thor had dismantled one of the stone garden walls to build a deck platform in front of the massive grill so Phil would be high enough to reach everything from his chair.

“Would you like me to bring a plate to Clint?” Steve offered, pretty certain he could resist the temptation to steal anything off his friend’s supper tray during transport.

“He needs to sleep more than he needs to eat,” Phil responded. “I’ll make him something later.”

“You sure he’s sleeping?” Natasha asked, eyebrow arched.

“Mark just checked on him. Situation appears quiet at present.”

“How’s your stomach, Steve?” Bruce asked.

“Feels fine,” Steve answered, realizing he had been paying inordinate attention to the contents of Tony’s plate. “I mean, other than the hungry rumbling . . . which, I’m not trying to complain about. Just want to stay honest.”

“Here!” Tony dropped his fork to the table in resignation and pushed his plate towards Steve. “Finish this.”

“But I—”

“I feel like I’m eating next to a starving dog begging for table scraps. I can’t stand it.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve felt bad for making Tony uncomfortable, though he wasn’t sure he felt bad enough to turn down the hunk of meat calling to him from Tony’s plate—if Tony really _was_ okay with him eating this. “You sure?”

Tony turned and glared at Bruce, searching for either back-up or someone else to play the role of evil meat denier. Bruce scratched his head and shrugged. “Probably not a great idea if his system is still out of whack and only in brief remission. On the other hand, he’s tolerated everything we’ve given him thus far and if his body is on the mend, denying needed caloric intake will only slow his recovery.”

Steve chose to hear that as a _Go_ sign, not giving them a chance to debate the issue further. He jabbed his knife and fork into the tender beef with gusto, relieved he could suppress his urge to pick the whole thing up with his fingers and shove the meat into his mouth in one gulp. Steve’s hungry innards welcomed the protein the way a forgotten house plant welcomed an overdue sip from the watering can.

Tony stood before Steve had finished, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to go take a swim. Chef Agent, you need to give him another burger when he’s done with this.”

Steve froze mid-chew, catching the escaped drip of juice with his tongue before it rolled to his chin. “You sure?”

“No. But have it anyway.” Tony turned towards Natasha and added, “I’ll be in the pool . . . holding on to my balls,” and she nodded in quiet approval at the odd comment. He headed off for the pool, and Steve did his best to enjoy the rest of his steak—and his second hamburger—without worry.

Bruce and Natasha excused themselves not long after, ostensibly to clear the table, bringing armfuls of stuff inside, but Steve got the feeling coincidence wasn’t the reason he was left alone with Phil.

“Good to see you enjoying food again,” Phil commented, finishing off his own meal. Steve watched him eat, eyes tracking each morsel, grateful for his own meal and doing his best to keep his mind off the fact that he was still hungry.

Sitting back in his chair, he played with his napkin to keep his fingers from trying to pluck any more stray crumbs from his plate—not that there were any left. “What’s really good is being here with all of you, having an ordinary evening. Well, as ordinary as things can be when my team is still exhausted, Tony’s so tense, and everyone but Thor is waiting anxiously to see if I keel over or start puking.”

He meant the words humorously, relieved when Phil laughed. “Yeah, it’s been a helluva vacation so far.” Face sobering, Phil looked at him, the soft lighting from the lanterns illuminating both the weary circles beneath his eyes and his concern. “You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Putting aside the unanswered question of whether or not you are, indeed, physically mended, how do you think you are doing otherwise?”

Steve wanted to be as honest as possible, considering the question for a time before answering. “I wish there was a simple answer. First and foremost, I’m relieved. I feel more like myself than I have since this whole mess started. I’m a little preoccupied with food right now, which isn’t my norm. Not sure I ever _thought_ about eating with this level of intensity. Since the serum, I’ve simply eaten when I needed to. Army rations were good enough because fuel was fuel and that’s what food was to me—purely fuel. I replenished when the tank was empty. When I was a kid, my appetite was small at best. There were days I could tolerate more food, but there was only ever a finite amount available, so wasn’t much reason to think about more. When Bucky and I were on our own, I used to make sure he got the bigger portion of whatever food we had because he needed it; he always had jobs that were more physical. Same as how a good chunk of his pay would wind up going towards my medicine; that was just how things were.” Steve paused, allowing for the pang Bucky’s memory always brought; a mixture of warm nostalgia and the cold burn of loss. He looked down into his hands, realizing he had shredded the napkin before his gaze came up to meet Phil’s. “Sorry. I’m rambling, not answering your question.”

“I disagree. You’ve had a lot of doors open up inside over the last few days. I think whatever wants to come through them is relevant.”

“Doors,” Steve nodded, aware now of how his mind had constructed the images of doors as a means to sort the overwhelming barrage of memories and emotions assaulting him while trapped in his icy prison, caught for a timeless period between consciousness and unconsciousness. “A lot of doors.”

“Has to be overwhelming . . . remembering how things were in the ice. Having so much flood back at once.”

“Yes and no. From the time SHIELD thawed me, I’d been certain I went down in the ice and then nothing until I woke up in their base in Manhattan. Even my nightmares were fuzzy at best. Whatever didn’t feel right inside, I didn’t have a lot of time to think about since I had more than my share to deal with in my new environment and then the Battle. Now, I’ve just gotten a substantial amount of intel that I’ve barely begun to evaluate, and yeah, the scope is pretty overwhelming. At the same time, knowing has to be better than not knowing . . . than having things wrong inside me that I don’t understand, that I was blind to.”

Phil sat back in his chair, pondering for several long moments before speaking again. “I’m no expert, and we’ve all been theorizing for days about what happened to you with no definitive conclusion, but I feel strongly there are aspects of your situation that resemble a version of shamanic journeying or hero’s quest. How much of it was chemically induced, how much was your own psyche demanding the truth, or even whether any of this was incited from other-worldly intervention is a subject that could be debated for years with no consensus reached. Personally, I don’t believe such a profound crucible could have been surmounted without somelevel of consent. Took courage to face what you did. Asgardian moonshine or no, you could have never uncovered those truths without the strength and resolve to dive into the breach: The same core strength you’ve had to rely on every single day since you awoke from the ice. New stimulus hits you just about every minute of every day. The average person would have gone mad months ago under the onslaught. I think your serum might enhance your adaptability, but I believe the lion’s share of the strength you use to cope comes from _you_.”

Steve made the connection quickly. “I understand what you’re saying.” New faces, new technology, years of history he knew nothing about, places, objects, manners of speech, style of dress, music, pop culture, politics; every day he took in more data than his mind could possibly attend to, and he’d only managed by compartmentalizing, doling out his daily missions in attainable chunks, letting the rest roll off him, stashed into a secure footlocker until a more appropriate time to engage them. “I think without even consciously deciding to, I’ve been compartmentalizing all this stuff, focusing only on what I can for now. Being sick. The ice. My dad. What my mom had to do in order to protect me. I’m aware of itall. I’m not pushing anything away, just keeping them contained while I slowly sort through them. But before, things were cloudy, unfocused, out of order. I feel clearer, more certain now, less anxious. Does that make sense?”

“You’re forever changed for having undergone the journey. Understandable you would return with a new strength. In the short term, the level of inner peace at having confronted the shadows and survived would feel somewhat restorative. You can use that energy to help you tackle the aftermath over the long haul.”

Steve nodded. As usual, Phil’s wisdom made good sense. “I appreciate you having this talk with me, though I imagine you have to be pretty tired of dealing with my fallout by this point.”

Phil looked amused. “Really? Because I was just about to guess what’s number one on your hierarchy of what you can handle for now, and what you are compartmentalizing. We share that trait.”

Steve smiled. “You’re right. A big part of my energy—my focus, my heart—is on all of you, especially Tony. He _has_ to be okay. You all do. There is no bigger priority for me right now.”

“And you’re not _tired_ of that?”

Despite their redness, Phil’s eyes had that twinkle, the one that reminded he was not only on to you, but two steps in front of you. “You made your point,” Steve conceded, nodding.

“Isn’t that what being part of a team means, Captain?”

“Indeed it does, sir.” Steve had always operated from a place of putting others, especially loved ones, first, but being on the receiving end took effort at times. He understood Phil’s point, though. Team does for each other. Giving and receiving. Sharing the load, distributing the burden. He still wasn’t comfortable with the cost his team had paid to stand in the trenches with him, but he would be forever humbled and grateful. Without them, he wasn’t sure he would have found his way back, especially Tony, his beacon in the darkness.

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

Phil adjusted his sling with his good hand, then leaned on the table, again looking closely at Steve with discerning eyes. “Tony and the team. That’s clear. But there’s something else. What else is foremost right now out of the sea of shadows you just got hit with?”

Steve couldn’t answer immediately. He’d been focusing his energy on Tony, as well as managing the rapid-fire changes in his physical state, working to ensure the steady return of energy and resources didn’t bowl him over, determined to maintain an even keel. Thinking past those things, he realized Phil was right. There was something else; a sad, achy hum. “I miss my mother’s voice,” he admitted, his own voice cracking. “Her presence; having it close. I didn’t like feeling crazy and confused, unable to tell the present from the past, real voices from ghost voices, but the part of all this where I had her close again. . . .” Steve leaned back, looking upward toward the blanket of stars glimmering against the velvet sky. “Letting go of the connection is . . . difficult.”

“Of course.” Phil’s voice was soft, and then he let the quiet fall between them for a time. After a while, he said, “I had an older brother who died way too young. I had looked up to him my whole life. Didn’t really know who I was after he was gone, because how could a ‘me’ exist without a ‘him’? Grief is a life-long process, but morphs into a lot of different configurations along the way. I can tell you there are times he comes to me in my dreams. He’s there. Really _there_. All those things you feel when you’re in the presence of someone, I can feel them. I wouldn’t say he’s doing anything particularly heroic in the dream. Most times, he’s just in the background, like the way extras mill around a movie scene. But what I _feel_ is strong. He’s _there_. The connection—the familiarity, the one you let yourself forget in the waking hours because it hurts too much to recall—that’s what comes right back in those dreams. Those are the hardest dreams to wake up from, when the connection breaks and the distance returns, like you’ve been cut off all over again.”

Steve looked into Phil’s still-too-weary eyes, honored by the confidence with which he had been entrusted. Even more, he felt understood, Phil having put into words emotions Steve hadn’t been able to name. “Well said,” he concurred, nodding. “And I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sure he was an exceptional man.”

“He was.”

“Must be part of the Coulson genes.” Steve decided Dr. Erskine would have been very impressed by Phil Coulson. He was certainly worthy of being tapped if Project Rebirth were ever to be rebooted in this decade. _A vast improvement over the original test subject_ , he thought with a grin.

The remaining dinnerware on the table began to jitter and jump, as thunderous god-size footsteps ran past the terrace door inside the villa. There was laughter and whoopingand talk of Frisbee play. “I think I better clear the rest of this table before Thor causes damage,” Phil decided. “Somewhere he’s gotten the mistaken impression that Frisbee is a contact sport.”

“I’m pretty sure everything becomes a contact sport for Thor eventually,” Steve pointed out, standing and lifting a few plates and the serving tray. “I got this.”

“Are you sure?” Steve could see Phil was trying not to glance at the uneaten meat on the tray, keeping his question casual.

“Believe me, as tempting as this meat is . . . and it is _very_ tempting . . . I wouldn’t break my word to Tony. I’m keeping everything above board. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself. I know you’re still hungry.”

“I am,” Steve admitted, the aroma of the food dancing through his nostrils, painting pictures in his brain that were teasing his grumpy stomach. “But I’ve got a handle on this. Feels good to be able to help out. And to _walk_ into the kitchen. Walking is an amazing gift. I’m focusing on those things.” He carried his armload from the grilling terrace into the kitchen, carefully storing the leftovers before heading back. On his way through the great room, he caught a glimpse at the pool terrace, where Thor had co-opted Bruce into the Frisbee match he was having with Walt, Mark, and Carolyn. From the splashing within the pool, he could see Tony was still swimming laps, and Natasha was once more sitting on the edge of the pool, threatening Thor if he doused her with water again.

Smiling, Steve returned to Phil out on the grilling terrace, finding he had cleared the remainder of the table and stacked the dishes neatly in a pile near the edge for Steve. As he started to grab them, Phil stopped him.

“Hang on. Before you take those, sit down for a second. There’s one more thing I wanted to say to you before I call it a night.”

Steve was glad to hear Phil was going back to bed soon because he needed more rest. He was probably also anxious to get back to Clint. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“I know you’re from a whole other generation . . . okay, there’s an understatement. What I mean is, hear me out even if this sounds a little odd to you.”

“Of course.” Steve felt anything Phil had to say was of importance.

“Have you done any reading yet on PTSD?”

“Yes, some. I know it affects soldiers.”

“True. But the term can refer to any situation where someone is recovering from a traumatic situation.”

“Are you talking about Tony?” Steve was hoping Tony was just over-tired and stressed from everything that had happened, and that his anxieties would lessen once he saw Steve _really_ was okay, but if Phil thought this could be more, he needed to know. Phil didn’t answer right away, playing at adjusting the material of his sling, which looked to be perfectly smooth to Steve. Realizing Coulson was using the delay to choose his words carefully, Steve grew more alarmed. “Phil, tell me. Please.”

“Sorry. I’m trying to choose my words carefully and my head is a little groggy. I want to be very clear about what I’m saying.”

“You’re worried about Tony.”

“Actually, I think in light of what’s gone on, Stark’s reactions are appropriate. He’s felt pretty powerless these last few days, and witnessing your trauma would have to affect him, considering how he feels about you. Clint is going through something similar. We all are in different ways. Strange as this sounds, it’s normal to react strongly to abnormal events. Everyone has a different recovery period, most likely based on their own personal history.”

Steve was confused now. Why was Phil taking the time to explain this when he already understood? “I know everybody’s gone through a lot because of me. But like you said, how they’re reacting is understandable, right? I feel terrible for causing all this distress, but I’m not sure what I can—” Steve paused, reconsidering Phil’s words. His brain was no longer sluggish, thoughts racing at a quick, steady pace. “You’re talking about _me_ , right? I’m the one you’re saying has this . . . PTSD?”

“Steve, with everything you’ve been through, both before the ice and after, it stands to reason you would have emotional repercussions. We’ve seen evidence of some of that over the last few days.”

“You think that’s going to happen again?” Steve asked, alarmed. “Even if the Asgardian medication has really cleared my system?” He wanted to immediately reject any such notion, but he had agreed to hear Phil out, and he respected Phil’s wisdom. He was going to listen, whether this was difficult or not.

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying this might be a good opportunity to consider different approaches toward moving forward. What separates PTSD from standard post trauma behavior is the inability to fully process and move forward. In simple terms, it’s getting stuck. You’ve gotten a chance to see just how much stuff you’ve got stuck inside you. Maybe this is an opportunity to consider new strategies? I know you’re old-fashioned, stoic, don’t complain, shoulder whatever comes your way kind of guy. Those are admirable qualities, and I wouldn’t expect you to change. At the same time, I’m hoping this past week has shown you it’s okay to ask for help; that help and support are around you as much as you need them.”

“You think I’m hiding something? That there’s more going on inside and I’m keeping it from all of you because—”

“No, no,” Phil hastened to assure, leaning across the table to set his hand on Steve’s forearm. “You’re misunderstanding.”

“Am I?” Steve didn’t want to feel prickly, but his insides were tensing defensively despite his efforts to listen with an open mind. He yanked his arm from under Phil’s touch, folding his arms across his chest. “I know I lied . . . more than once. I’m ashamed of my behavior and aware it’s had an impact on my team’s ability to trust my word. I’ve been doing my best to be patient with everyone’s skepticism regarding my instincts about my condition, because I brought this mistrust upon myself, but I really thought _you_ understood earlier when we talked about needing to compartmentalize in order to handle the influx of memories—”

“Steve, I did. I do.” Phil was the one who looked agitated now. He dragged his hand over his face and sighed, then rested his palm atop his head. “Wow, I must be more tired than I thought because I am botching this spectacularly. Can I try again? Please?” At Steve’s nod, he continued. “What I was trying to say, in my clearly ineffective way, was that I recognize the enormity of the burdens you shoulder every single day, and that I should have pointed out sooner to you that support is available. I know a guy you might feel comfortable talking to.”

“A psychiatrist?” Steve muttered the word with distaste. “SHIELD tried that tactic on me months ago, and while I appreciate your concern, the last thing I want or need is a bunch of aloof doctors with a highly developed notion of their own intellect and importance testing, retesting, and analyzing me like a lab rat again.”  

“Oh, hell no,” Phil responded with a comically sour expression, and actually laughed, easing Steve’s apprehension some. “I know exactly the team of robo-docs you’re talking about. I’ve had them turned on me a time or two, and I’ve had to rescue Clint from their probes more than once. I’d sooner tell you to share your troubles with Elmo.”

“He is a pretty good listener.” Steve smiled, relaxing. “Sorry for overreacting. I guess I’m a still a little tenser than I realized.”

“Fault was mine. You’re doing fine.” Phil sipped the remainder of lemonade from his sweating glass, reminding Steve how warm it was outside this evening. He shouldn’t be overtaxing an already weary Phil, especially on such a humid night.

“How ‘bout I shut up and let you finish telling me what you wanted to tell me?”

“I only wanted to say that I know a guy I think you might like. He’s former military, so I think you’ll feel comfortable around him. He’s a stand-up guy, he’s done a lot of work with PTSD and he’s easy to talk to. And just to be clear, I practice what I preach. He’s helped me out a few times, most recently after Loki did his best to turn me into an Asgardian shish-kabob.” Phil gestured with his sling arm. “Sometimes it helps to talk to someone outside the situation completely. Not that all of you haven’t been a tremendous support system for me, because you have, but never underestimate the power of a non-partial ear, someone with no emotional stake in your situation. He paid more than one visit to me in the hospital after I was released from the Staten Island base facility.”

“I’m surprised I never met him.” Steve had visited Phil in the rehab hospital every single day—some days, more than once. He’d spent hours supporting Phil’s PT, reading to him, playing cards, updating him on the progress of Operation Rebuild, or just keeping him company in general to induce Clint to take a break. The only faces he had seen going in and out of that room were hospital staff, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, or Avengers.

“He keeps a low profile when he’s not paying a social visit. He understands the importance of privacy. Anyway, when we get back home, I’d like to give you his card, if you’re open to it. His name is Sam Wilson.”

“Sam Wilson,” Steve repeated. Sounded like a good, strong name. He liked the fact there wasn’t a “Doctor” in front of it. He still wasn’t certain he would be comfortable with this modern day “therapy” he had heard about, but he trusted Phil and therefore wouldn’t lightly dismiss the recommendation, even if he wasn’t sure this was right for him. Then again, someone who had blacked out such integral pieces of his own history had no business believing he was in command of himself. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“So, are we done here?” Steve asked with a grin. “May I finish clearing the table now?”

“I suppose I’ve done enough grilling for one night.” Phil’s astute expression told Steve the context of the words had to do with more than meat.

“I don’t mind your grilling,” Steve responded as he stood and collected the stack of plates. “Thanks for caring.”

Phil nodded, his expression warm, but weary. “I think I’ll check on the kiddies in the kiddie pool before I go back to bed. Make sure they’re playing nice.”

Steve laughed. “Good idea. I’ll see you out there in a few.”

Again, Steve was enticed in the kitchen by the proximity of aromas and the huge fridge with the glass doors allowing you to see every bit of food contained within. “You just ate,” he grumbled, annoyed he had to push the temptation away yet again. He truly hoped his lack of internal discipline was going to fade along with his other symptoms because this was getting silly. He set the stack of dishes in the sink, considering washing them all by hand, ultimately deciding he shouldn’t risk this proximity to food for the length of time it would take. Instead, he loaded the already half-full dishwasher. He knew from being in the kitchen on the common floor of the tower that his teammates never washed a dish by hand, teasing him when he did. In fact, it was a rare occasion when their discarded dinnerware even made it as far as the dishwasher: Plates, cups, take-out containers, cutlery, and numerous coffee mugs, generally left wherever they had been last used, waiting for one of Tony’s highly paid staff to collect them.

Steve didn’t have a dishwasher in his apartment, gratified Tony had recognized he wouldn’t want one—though it didn’t keep him from squawking when he saw Steve doing dishes after an Avengers movie night in his living room.

_“You don’t have to do that, you know. They make reliable machines to complete these tasks nowadays. I also overpay dozens of people who would be happy to take care of this.”_

_“There’s nothing wrong with my two hands,”_ Steve would say, expecting—and receiving—the annoyed roll of Tony’s eyes.

“I would get one of these machines for you if you were here,” Steve said aloud before remembering his mother wouldn’t be answering him. He decided she would ask him what she would need with such a contraption, and provide a lecture on the virtues of hard work, to which Steve would explain she already worked far too hard and she deserved a luxury once in a while.

“And, of course, she wouldn’t agree,” Steve surmised as he finished loading the dishwasher. He leaned on the counter, looking around the expansive kitchen, the room he had spent the least amount of time in since arriving in the villa because coming anywhere in its vicinity would turn his stomach unpleasantly. It was a grand kitchen for sure: bright white with lime green accents, big enough to hold three ceiling fans without any of them touching blades. The appliances were sparkling stainless steel, the countertops covered in rich granite, and the limestone floor was pristine. In the center was a huge island with high wooden chairs surrounding it, inviting you to eat here instead of one of the many other dining room options in the villa. He imagined his team consuming their meals over that island table in their effort to keep the food aromas confined to the kitchen while Steve was ill, something they thankfully wouldn’t have to do anymore.

Remembering Bruce had increased his fluid intake, encouraging him to now consume more drinks with electrolytes, he went to the glass-door fridge and reached in, ignoring the shelves of leftovers for a _Gatorade—_ an orange one—eagerly anticipating the rush of sugar. Closing the door, he sat on one of the high wooden chairs, trying not to chug the drink in one gulp. Looking around as he sipped, his mind supplied a comparison of this kitchen to the one in the apartment he lived in when he turned five—the room where his father had broken his arm. Like old photographs from his day, his mental image was grainy. The black and white checkered linoleum stood out, as did the icebox and the big cast iron radiator in the corner, the one that looked like a metal accordion. Both the sink and the oven seemed big to him then, each with long, slender legs, but compared to the appliances he was currently looking at, they may as well have been dollhouse furniture. About four of that old kitchen could probably fit inside this one, though at the time he thought it was a big room. Yes, that kitchen was smaller, but no less clean. His mother was meticulously neat, washing the floor each morning and her curtains once a week. She scrubbed the appliances until they shined, and the window glass sparkled in the sun. The only time he could ever recall the kitchen being messy was when the glass—and blood—were scattered everywhere. Even then, with bandaged, bloody hands, she managed to clean up before leaving her kitchen for the last time. That was Sarah Rogers.

He used to like to watch his mother cooking over the stove in her flowered apron while he sat at the small table drawing. He knew exactly which cabinet she kept her fancy plates and saucers in—the ones she had to leave behind the night they left, never to be seen again. He could see them now, though, as she reached over the counter where the breadbox sat, to open the cupboard.

Steve shook himself, fearful that it was happening again, that he was losing touch with reality. After a few deep breathes and another sip of _Gatorade_ , he calmed, realizing this was just normal memory. He still knew exactly where he was.

“In the villa, on Not-Fiji.” He smiled, adding, “And I’ve got to stop talking to myself now.” At least, he figured he should, though a small part of him maintained the slim hope that thoughts said aloud would be somehow heard by his mom.

He finished up his _Gatorade_ , looking at the wall clock to keep track of when he was supposed to drink again. Grabbing a bottle of water so he would have it with him in ten minutes when he could drink, he exited the kitchen, unable to stop himself from giving the barbecued chicken in the fridge one last thought.

 _Maybe soon_.

For now, he was going to enjoy the effects of the orange sports drink, feeling his parched system lapping every drop, quickly converting the calories to energy. As he headed through the great room towards the pool terrace, he honed in on the laughter and rowdy boisterousness that had been going on out there all along. Tony’s voice was raised, swearing at Thor about something as he climbed out of the pool. But it was Phil’s voice that caused Steve’s adrenaline to spike.

“Thor, look out!”

Steve zeroed in on the scene about half a second after Phil did: Thor backpedalling to catch the Frisbee thrown by Bruce, leaping, crashing unseeing into Walt—who was standing about four steps away from where Tony had just climbed out of the pool. The effect was a little like dominos—if the game of dominos contained one huge, thunder-powered domino. The crash was pretty spectacular, though thankfully there was a pool to catch the fall of flailing bodies. Thor hit Walt pretty hard, sending him sailing into Tony, who hit the water back-first, the other two following him in with a splash big enough to surf upon.

Steve raced to the edge of the pool deck before remembering the couch incident and reminding himself he wasn’t supposed to be running, and certainly not swimming, if he didn’t want to break his promise. Natasha’s eyes locked with his and he could tell she sensed his dilemma, standing to strip off her skirt—thankfully revealing her swimsuit beneath—before slipping into the pool to help.

Thor’s weight had sunk them all to the bottom, Natasha already complaining as she reached beneath the now bubbling water for his ponytail and yanking. “Come on. Get your Asgardian lard-ass off of them, big fella.”

“Remind me again why we let Thor near water?” Phil muttered. “Please tell me he hasn’t broken my physical therapist.”

Steve half-expected Tony or Clint to make an off-color remark about Walt’s practice withstanding Thor, but Clint was still in bed and Tony hadn’t come up from under the water. Thor’s head sprang up first, hair still twisted in Natasha’s fist. When his upper body emerged from the water, he was proudly displaying the Frisbee he had managed to catch and hold on to. “I did not drop the discus,” he announced proudly, spitting water as he reached behind himself to yank Walt up by his shirt. Walt came up, but he let out a loud groan, twisting uncomfortably and holding his side.

“Are you hurt?” Phil asked.

“I wasn’t . . . until I reached for Tony and he started kicking me.”

“Friend Tony, my apologies,” Thor declared, reaching beneath the increasingly agitated water behind Walt. He must have gotten hold of Tony’s tee shirt, because Tony was yanked up as well . . . fists and legs thrashing like he was in a fight. Walt took a shot to the chin in the melee and Natasha ducked quickly, narrowly missing the clenched fist that came an inch from making contact with her face.

“What the fuck, Stark?” she growled, reaching for his arm, which made him go totally berserk, kicking viciously at Thor and swinging wildly at Natasha.

“Let him go!” Phil shouted, deadly serious now as he motored to the pool’s edge. “Don’t touch him. Back away, all of you. Give him room to breathe.” Phil’s complexion had gone gray as he caught Steve’s eye and warned, “Flashback.”

Stomach clutching as all of his systems engaged at once, Steve immediately understood. Afghanistan. Water. Tony bloodying his nose in the throes of a hellish nightmare, but this was no nightmare. The weight of both Thor’s and Walt’s bodies must have held him below the surface too long, triggering something dark. “You heard Coulson, get off of him!” Steve shouted when the other occupants of the pool were slow to retreat. Natasha backed away first, quickly followed by Walt, both swimming to the other side to climb out, while Thor continued to try and subdue a now gasping, wheezing Tony.

Steve understood why Thor was reluctant to let Tony go. His eyes were glazed over, his flesh was a scary combination and of white and red, and he was choking on water, spewing it raggedly in between swings and panicked gasping. Having learned from his firsthand experience with Tony in Staten Island, Steve also knew the more Thor tried to restrain him, the harder Tony would fight because, in his mind, he was fighting for his life. “Thor, I know you’re trying to help, but if you don’t let go, this is going to get worse.”

“But if he were to fall below water again while he can barely take in breath—”

“I got this,” Steve insisted as he jumped into the pool, potential bloody noses and promises to remain safely inactive be damned.

 

~0~0~0~


	6. Chapter 6

In hindsight, Tony should have seen it coming. Loss of control. Powerlessness. Big buttons. Top them off with a heaping scoop of exhaustion and an emotional state so unbalanced he’d already had two good-sized panic attacks in the last two days, and this shouldn’t have been a shocker. So why was it? Probably because he was wide awake. This shit usually saved itself for the Land of Nod. When did he turn into a freaking zombie?

“ _Owwww_ ,” he complained when Bruce’s damn blood pressure cuff pinched his arm too tightly. “And get that damn flashlight out of my eyes.”

He felt Steve’s chest rumble beneath the wet shirts the back of his head was plastered to. “I think he’s with us again,” Steve said behind his chuckle.

“So it would seem.” Bruce continued to hover over him, not releasing him from the blood pressure sucker that was surely squeezing hard enough to amputate his arm. How the hell did Steve stand that damn thing? Or that fucking flashlight?

Once again, he was doing a stellar fucking job of keeping Steve’s stress to a minimum—NOT. His current reality was returning slowly despite the clinging shadows of the delirium that engulfed him the minute he couldn’t free himself from his unplanned plunge beneath the water. Swimming on his own terms was cool. He’d learned to re-master that years ago despite several ugly incidents when he had to forcefully convince himself calm water was not his enemy. But being _held under_ —big negatory on that one. The second he hit the pool unwillingly, he had lost his shit so fast, it was like being plowed over by the Stark Jet on takeoff.

He was currently swaddled on his back in an unyielding embrace atop Steve who was stretched out on a pool lounger. Steve’s ankles were pressed over his, immobilizing his legs, one arm clasped around his waist like the world’s most secure seatbelt, Steve’s other palm pressed to his forehead to keep his head from wincing away from Bruce’s pesky flashlight. His own arms had only recently been released when he regained enough awareness to stop trying to clock everyone in his vicinity—okay, maybe released wasn’t the most accurate term since Dr. Quack Banner had already captured one inside his strangling BP contraption and the other was pressed against his own side beneath his Captain America sized seatbelt.

“You’re okay, sweetie,” Steve murmured in the same steady, soft-toned litany that had eventually called Tony back from his unplanned junket to an Afghan cave. Well, that and the protective cocoon of Steve he’d been wrapped in, which managed to curtail his berserk thrashing while providing a non-threatening security blanket he eventually recognized. How Steve managed to be this strong and this gentle simultaneously was an enigma; a singular talent that, in Tony’s Stark’s vast experience, was possessed only by Steven Rogers. “You’re going to be okay, Tony. I’ve got you.”

“How’s the BP?” Coulson asked, his Robo-Agent chair—the one they had come to refer to as Rambo—parked directly behind Bruce’s shoulder. Agent had cleared the deck of non-essential personnel, meaning anyone other than Banner and Steve, for which Tony was grateful. He was pretty sure he slugged Black Widow in the melee, and he wasn’t looking forward to the payback. Good thing he was dating the captain of the football team. He wasn’t above hiding behind Steve’s legs after school.

“Better,” Bruce responded, tight-lipped. Tony didn’t care for the green flecks in his eyes. The guy really was on edge, no doubt walking the tightrope between serene and green without a balancing umbrella. Watching Tony play _Rock’em Sock-em Robots_ with his girlfriend probably hadn’t helped his disposition any more than acquiring yet another patient for his unwanted island medical practice had, which was the only reason Tony didn’t _demand_ that vampire cuff be removed using the angry mob of expletives currently fighting their way to jump off his tongue.

“Show’s over,” he muttered instead. “You can all go back to your business, citizens.”

“Zip it, Stark,” Principal Coulson insisted, looking pretty threadbare himself. As for Steve, Tony couldn’t actually _see_ him from this position, though he felt how soaked his clothing was, meaning he’d had to jump into the pool after him. Not good. If he somehow managed to cause Steve a relapse, he was going to toss himself back in the pool and order Thor to sit on him til next Tuesday.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, kissing the side of his cheek as his fingers rubbed the tense, scowling spots on Tony’s brow. “Everyone here understands.”

“Great. Then explain it to me,” Tony groused trying in vain to get his right arm free from the ring of Steve, desperate to tear that fucking cuff off his left before it inflated again. “On second thought, don’t. I’m pretty clear on the _Reader’s Digest_ version. Just let me up.”

“Tony, this isn’t all psychological,” Bruce stated in his reasonable scientist tone. “Flashbacks take a physical toll on your body. I wouldn’t recommend—”

“What?” Tony snapped. “Taking a dive in the pool? Don’t worry. Wasn’t planning to.”

“What Bruce means is—”

“I know what Bruce means, Steve. I don’t need DoctorFlashlight to tell me I had a freak-out. Thunder Thighs and his boy toy sat on my head in the pool. I panicked. Experienced a brief mind-fuck visit from my unfriendly neighborhood water torturers, threw a few punches, spat up half the pool as you dragged me out, and now my throat is burning with chlorine, my blood pressure is playing the bongos, and my body feels shittier than it did before, which is saying something. That about sum things up? I mean, unless you’ve got a needle you can shoot me with to fix me up? No, maybe Thor can give me a shot of Asgardian Moonshine . . . wait, no, not a good plan.”

“Tony, stop.” Phil’s voice was softer, his hand setting upon Tony’s shoulder above the cuff.

Tony didn’t particularly feel like being babied. He was too pissed at himself to tolerate niceness, but he doubted he’d convince this crowd to steer clear of him while he was this toxic. The adrenaline spike was leaking from his body, leaving his limbs flat as a punctured tire. Going lax against the cushion of soggy Steve, he gave up. “Can we just go to bed? All of us? Reboot tomorrow?”

“That’s actually a good plan,” Phil agreed. “Provided we can trust you to comply.”

“He will.” Steve sounded more steely than sweet this time, but Tony was too tired to care. He felt like the world’s lamest loser, wanting nothing more than to get in bed, pull the covers over his head, and disappear. Or maybe down a bottle of scotch with a wine chaser. _No. Going with the bed and covers option_. He’d hampered Steve’s recovery enough for one day.

Steve eased his legs off Tony and unfastened his waist grip, cautioning, “Take it slow.” When Bruce released his arm from the shackle, he griped, “If that bruises I’m suing you for malpractice.”

“Knock yourself out,” Bruce responded. “If you succeed, you’ll be awarded my worldly possessions, the sum of which fit in my duffel bag.”

“All mine,” Tony agreed. “And your little flashlight, too.”

Anxious to flee the scene of his loony crime, he ignored Steve’s warning, springing up from the lounge chair as if it was crawling with fireants. Why the fuck hadn’t anybody told him his legs had filled with water in the pool? Was Bruce too busy playing with his blood pressure strangler that he didn’t have time to diagnose Tony’s limbs had become overcooked spaghetti? He was only saved from crashing onto Phil’s lap—and squashing his already injured arm—by the now-he-wants-to-be-helpful Bruce, who grabbed him below his pits and dangled him like a broken marionette until Steve got to his feet. Before Tony could protest, Steve had scooped him up in his arms. Ordinarily, he kinda liked when Steve manhandled him, but not now. Not today. No. No. NO.

“You are _not_ carrying me. Didn’t we have this talk this morning when you were juggling the sofa? You already broke your clearly meaningless promise when you jumped in the damn pool. You really ready to be a bigger liar?”

_Congratulations, Stark. Just when it didn’t seem possible to be a more of an asshole, you went and exceeded expectations. What’s next on the agenda? Kick a puppy? Beat up a nun? Drown a kitten?_

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, every last syllable of the wound Tony’s words had inflicted writ clearly on his face. “I . . . um. You’re right. Promised you. . . .” His words cut off painfully, his chin dropping to his chest in shame. Actual shame. Like he was the bad one here.

“Okay, that’s enough, both of you,” Coulson chastised. “We’re all too exhausted for this nonsense. Stark, either shut up and let him carry you upstairs, or he puts you down and I call Thor for transport duty. Your choice. And Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s out of sorts and looking for a target. Stop giving him one.”

“No Thor,” Tony managed to say around the choking guilt-ball lodged in his throat.

“Okay, then. Steve, take him to bed. Goodnight to both of you.”

Steve’s head came up to look at Bruce. “Will you make sure Phil—”

“Of course. Go. Let me know if you need me.”

Neither of them said another word as Steve carried him carefully up the stairs—stairsSteve couldn’t even climb without assistance until this morning. Tony could tell he was being slow and cautious, but he still hated himself for putting Steve in this position. None of this was right. He had gone in the pool in the first place in order to stop hovering over Steve and stressing him with his unmanageable fears.

_Great plan, Stark_.

Their suite was pristine when they returned, even the medical equipment gone, nothing about the décor indicating the battle that had raged in here, as if it never happened. But it _had_. The only small remnant of what had taken place was a red furry puppet doll, those white-orbed eyes looking accusatorily at Tony from his perch on the bed table as if to ask, “Elmo wants to know why Tony not take good care of Steve no more?”

_Because Tony’s a fucked-up prick, you little red shit, now shut the fuck up._

Still silent, Steve sat him gingerly upon the chair long enough to strip off his dripping clothes, the cotton shorts, underwear, tank, and button-down getting wadded and dumped in a soggy pile on the floor near the open balcony doors in very uncharacteristic-for-Steve fashion.

Ignoring the mess he’d made, Steve stood in front of Tony, naked in a way that hand nothing to do with stripping free of clothing. “I want to help you shower. I think getting the chlorine off and cleaning up a bit might make you feel better. Or I could just get you over to the bed and not do anything else if that would make you more comfortable. I’m not trying to upset you, Tony, I’m really not. Tell me what you need from me. Please.”

 There was only one thing Tony wanted. Needed. Didn’t deserve, but would die without receiving. “Forgive me?” he croaked through his burning throat, ignoring the fucking tears that were more stubborn than he was. Steve dropped to his knees, his legs not looking much steadier than Tony’s had been on the pool terrace. He opened his arms in a way that said he wasn’t sure if his invitation would be appreciated. Tony didn’t give him long to wonder. He used what energy he had to fling himself off the chair at Steve, knowing he’d be caught. And then they were both on their knees . . . hugging . . . shaking . . . crying. There wasn’t a lot of energy left over for words. Words could wait.

Tony’s hands gripped the back of Steve’s head, palms cupping the wounds he could see clearly in his mind. Over Steve’s shoulder he spied the now righted table where Steve had taken refuge during the worst of his anguish, a scared, broken little boy that Tony ached to protect. He would never let anybody hurt his Steve like that again. Never. There was no cold-gray, no sadistic father, no mind-altering drugs that were going to rob him of Steve. They tried to take his innocence, but they lost. Sure, Steve was over ninety, but the purity within him had survived; a purity that had washed over Tony and made him clean in a way he’d never been.

And when Tony’s ‘I’m okay’ bullshit façade cracked, and the icy fear of that cave—dredged up in the water of a pool thousands of miles from his prison—crashed in on him, Steve nestled him close and rocked him—actually rocked him—until the shaking stopped and he could breathe again.

They were both broken, but not ruined.

Tony did let Steve help him shower, his tender hands making the cascade of water pleasant, not terrifying. Tony’s lips covered the long-healed scars where Stevie’s arm had been shattered by too-rough hands. When Steve’s love for him manifested in a long-absent physical response, one Tony sadly couldn’t match, it was okay. There would be time. Tony would have gladly dropped to his knees and provided his Steve with a level of pleasure that would have made ghosts of his recent pains, but Steve deferred, choosing to wait for him.

Cleaned and quieted, they lay in their bed together, tucked between the cool, fresh sheets. Tony encouraged Steve to curl into him the way he sensed Steve needed to, because his baby-blue wasn’t really as healed as he thought he was; certainly not healed from grief or the burden of knowing the kinds of things nobody as good as him should ever have to know. Cradling Steve’s head to his chest, he tucked Elmo beneath his love’s unresisting arm, gratified Steve could easily accept this comfort, this soft landing place from him. Being able to provide it restored places inside Tony that had been damaged long ago.

Sleep became simple, uncomplicated. Nightmares didn’t dare intrude.

 

~0~0~0~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in what I think of as the "soundtrack" for the last section of this chapter, you can listen to the song "Fix You" by Cold Play. It was playing in an endless loop for me while I was writing this last part with Steve and Tony in the suite, and think it accurately reflects the tone and emotions between them.  
> [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fuqkz_sZDos)


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was beginning to paint the sky when Steve opened his eyes. He was on his side, facing the balcony doors, able to appreciate the beautiful panorama welcoming him to a new day. Tony was curled protectively around him, spooned up against his back, one leg thrown over his two, arm cinching his waist, chin resting atop Steve’s head. There were many mornings after his defrosting where he awoke unsure, unable to immediately recall where he was, or what his life was now, a stranger in whatever bed he slept in. Thankfully, that was no longer his reality. He felt secure, loved; he knew exactly where he was and where he belonged—and to whom.

“Good morning,” he said softly, sensing Tony was awake. He could feel it in the rhythmic rise and fall of Tony’s chest against his back.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Tony murmured in response, tightening his hold as if worried Steve would escape.

“You did sleep, right?” Steve was pretty sure he would have known if Tony had been unsettled during the night, but he had gone down so fast himself after their emotional storm, he couldn’t be fully certain.

“I did.” He slid down a bit, getting his lips behind Steve’s neck, nuzzling there.

Steve’s morning wood twitched in anticipation, but Tony’s front was pressed flush to him, giving no indication of a matching response, so he quickly set those thoughts aside, and simply enjoyed the sensation. “Glad you didn’t have any nightmares.”

“Me too. How are you feeling, baby-blue?”

Steve readied to give a stock response of reassurance, but caught himself. “Truth?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Hungry. A little horny. Pretty twitchy from the prolonged inertia, but I’ve got a handle on all of it.”

“Handle? More like jamming a lid down on a fully boiling pot, I bet.” He was relieved when he felt Tony chuckle. “What about your stomach?”

“Other than the hungry part, fine. Oh, and I should also say, in the interest of complete honesty, I feel secure and content here in your arms.”

“Then my work here is done.”

Steve chuckled this time, reaching over his hip to pat Tony’s leg, sliding his fingers up the loose material of the shorts because he needed more contact. “Your work here is never going to be done. You’ve got yourself lifetime employment, Mister Stark . . . if you’re interested.”

“Well, I _am_ the best man for the job.”

The response was completely Tony Stark, which delighted Steve. Tony had been under crushing stress, making even the simplest waggish comment feel like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. He hadn’t exactly been the life of the party lately himself. This was nice. “I agree.”

“I suppose you think I’m going to let you get up now, right?”

“Can’t say I really thought about it. I kinda like how this feels.”

“Good.” Tony’s arm pulled tighter, his teeth taking a nibble out of Steve’s neck before he explained, “You’re safe right here. I can feel that. Safe is good. Letting you out of my sight is going to be the hard part.”

“Did I give any indication I wanted to be out of your sight?”

“Ah, but there lies the problem.” Tony sighed, pressing his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades. “It’s time for me to start feeling like me again, and for you to start feeling like you again. But you can’t start feeling like you while I’m around because, right now, I don’t feel like me enough to handle you feeling like you.”

“Um, Tony, cutie, maybe you need a little more rest?”

“You think my logic is flawed? Not a chance. My logic makes perfect sense.”

“Perfectly confusing sense.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

Steve smiled, pushing back, pressing himself even more securely to Tony, though there was already no clear demarcation point between their bodies. “It’s early. We don’t have to decide anything. I’m happy right here.”

His words seemed to sootheTony, who sighed heavily before relaxing. Steve wasn’t particularly sleepy, the opposite, in fact. He was sick of sleep. Every muscle in his body itched to _do_ something. On the other hand, the emotional calm of lying beside his lover, feeling Tony’s quiescence after the many storms, was seductive. He took long, deep breaths, allowing himself to drift, quieting the hunger growls and unrest within until the hum of contentment fell over him like a comfy quilt. He matched his breathing to the surf, feeling Tony’s hand press to his chest several times to make certain his heart was beating steadily.

He could tell when Tony fell asleep, knew when the sleep grew deeper and when his consciousness was closer to the surface. Tony awoke several times, but he didn’t speak. He would readjust his hold on Steve, check for signs of life by pressing his chest or pulse point—one time, even sticking his finger under Steve’s nose to check for breath—then settle back down and drift again. Steve didn’t pick up any signs of distress in Tony’s breathing, not much twitching or stiffening, so he hoped he was sleeping nightmare free.

For his part, Steve watched the sun rise fully through the balcony window, listening to the morning song of gulls, waves, and his lover’s breathing. He did a little mental reading—the kind where he retold himself a book he had read many times, a skill he had picked up as a kid when he had exhausted his allotted library books for the week. He also made a mental checklist of the many things he wanted to do with Tony on their island vacation once he could spend his days fully upright without setting off fear and panic. What he didn’t do was dwell on the dark stuff. His conversation with Phil last night had been helpful, providing a good deal of food for thought, but he wasn’t eager to delve into any more for now. There had been too many dark days. Today was bright with sunshine and Tony was safe and at ease beside him. Today would be a good day.

He wasn’t facing the clock, but his mental acuity for time and the position of the sun told him close to three hours had passed serenely since dawn before the thunderous pounding on their suite door put an end to the quiet. Tony snapped to wakefulness, his hands combing over Steve immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I think we have company.”

“Steven! Anthony! My friends. I must speak with you.”

“Come on in,” Steve called, but Tony sprung from the bed.

“No! Wait!”

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked. They both had on shorts and tee shirts, so Tony couldn’t have been worried on that front.

“Door’s locked. Thundar will take your invitation to enter to mean he can remove the door from the hinges.”

“I didn’t lock the door.” Steve was the one who had carried Tony into the room last night, and Tony had been barely moving on his own steam.

“I did,” Tony explained, running his hands through his bed-matted hair as he headed towards the door. “When I got up to take a leak in the night. I’m tired of this room being Grand Central Station. The least they can fucking do is knock.”

Thor did, indeed, knock again, harder this time, making the door hinges complain. “My friends, please allow me entry.”

“Hang on to your fucking thunderbolts, I’m coming.”

Steve got up and immediately started making the bed out of habit. “Yeah, with Thor, you need to lock the windows, too.”

“What do you mean?” Tony paused at the doorway to the suite and glared at Steve’s actions. “And what the hell are you doing?”

Steve remembered Tony had been out cold when Thor made his last visit through the balcony doors. He also picked up on the look he was getting, dropping the bedding and taking two steps back from the bed. “I . . . uh . . . nothing. Answer the door.”

Tony yanked the door open just as Thor had begun to pound again. Thankfully, Tony’s legs were working well this morning and he was able to jump out of the way of the pounding fist that fell through the open door followed by Thor.

Tony’s greeting was, “What do you want?”

“I think he means, good morning,” Steve said with a smile, getting a good look at Thor. He was dressed for the beach: colorful board shorts, tank top, a visor around his head—and something red and furry clinging to his forearm. “What is that?” he asked as he took a seat near the balcony doors before Tony could complain he was overdoing.

“What the hell are you doing with Strangle Me Elmo?” Tony exclaimed, looking at Thor as though he’d been grave robbing.

“Ah, you speak of my new talisman,” Thor declared proudly, holding out his arm to better reveal what looked to be a large Elmo doll—well, large if you were a preschool child. On a thunder god, maybe more cufflink size. The doll’s arms were wrapped of their own accord around Thor’s brawny forearm, clinging to him with no assistance, unless there was Asgardian magic involved, a thought Steve quickly banished from his mind, having had his fill of such things for a while. “This was gifted unto me.”

“Gifted my ass,” Tony grumbled.

“Indeed, he was. I discovered him within a chest inside my suite, a treasure chest it would seem. I believe he was placed there by the god of Elmos.”

“There is no god of Elmos! You know damn well where that came from. He belongs in the reject pile with the rest of them. Gimme.” Tony took a swipe toward Elmo, but Thor eluded him.

“I cannot. Sir Elmo is the talisman who led our Steven from the dark path back to the light. To spurn such a gift would be unseemly.”

“Reject pile?” Steve asked, amused and confused. He sensed this had something to do with the infamous “Elmo Incident” he’d heard mentioned, but never explained. “Just how many Elmos did you buy, Tony?”

“For an accurate accounting, you could peruse the entry hall closet wherein Thomas and Marcella have amassed the discarded—”

“Were you really pounding down our door to give us a fucking Elmo accounting, Thundar?” Tony asked with disgust as he seated himself on the end of the bed.

“Certainly not,” Thor said with a grin. “My primary mission was to see to the health and wellbeing of my comrades. I am gratified to find you both looking this well.”

“So you woke me up because you were concerned for my health?”

Thor’s demeanor grew serious as he turned fully towards Tony, dropping to one knee, his hand over his heart. Despite his comical get-up and the red fur ball fastened to his arm, Thor looked noble. “And to offer my sincerest apologies for the role I played in your unrest last evening. I became carried away with frivolity and near injured your body while surely spurring harm within your mind.”

Tony rolled his eyes before washing his hands over his face. “Oh, spare me the full Asgardian Contrition Dance, _please_. I just woke up.”

“Will you not allow me to atone?”

“Consider your atonement bill paid in full.” Tony stood, reaching for the strap of Thor’s tank top and yanking. “Come on, get up, get up. I don’t want knee imprints on the carpet.”

“I’m sure Tony appreciates your apology, Thor. Everyone realizes the whole thing was an unintentional series of events. No blame.”

“Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t blaming him.”

“I am stricken by my actions and their consequence,” Thor was saying as he got back to his feet. “Please, my friends. The fair Lady Malia, mistress of the kitchen, is preparing a breakfast feast worthy of warriors. Allow me the honor of bearing some trays up here to your lovely veranda so you may dine privately.”

Just the word _breakfast_ made Steve’s stomach cry, but he did his best to appear nonchalant , making sure he wasn’t salivating before he spoke. “Thank you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m not sure how much I’ll be eating and—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Tony interrupted, looking from Steve to Thor then back again. He started tapping his index fingers together frenetically, eyes narrowing. Tony’s wheels were turning furiously . . . not always a good thing. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“What do you wish?” Thor asked as Tony started to pace, muttering to himself.

“Yeah, that could work. No, no. I can’t, can I? Well, nothing else is going to work. Focus. Focus. See the problem. Deal with the problem.”

“Tony, what’s going on? What problem?”

“Our problem.”

“We don’t have a problem . . . do we?”

“Right now, I’m your problem. And that’s my problem. Feeling like you. Feeling like me, remember? We talked about this earlier.”

“Not sure I’d call that talking,” Steve said, trying to follow. “I feel like me. You feel like you. I mean, you don’t feel like I feel like me. Me feel? You feel?”

“I feel, you feel, we all feel, hell, you sound like a Raffi song.”

“Who’s Raffi?”

“Raffi is a—ohhh, no you don’t.” Tony wagged a suspicious finger at Steve. “Uh-uh. Not going there again. We are _not_ going back down the “Who’s Elmo” road, nope. Made that mistake once. I don’t intend to be hearing _Baby Beluga_ in my sleep.”

“Baby what?”

“I am familiar with these belugas. Marvelous creatures.”

“Don’t you start, too, Thundar. And take that damn Elmo off your arm.”

“Tony, what does any of this have to do with breakfast?” There was that word again, along with the delicious aromas wafting up from the kitchen despite Steve’s efforts to keep his nose pointed towards the open doors, breathing the salty surf.

“What it has to do with breakfast is you need to go eat some. Go. Follow the Elmo-Whisperer here down to the kitchen and eat.”

Steve practically shot from the chair before he caught himself and asked, “You mean it? You want me to go to breakfast? And _eat_? How much?”

“As much as you want.”

“Aye!” Thor bellowed. “We shall rejoice this moment has come at last. You have come to embrace the truth that our captainis hale and well.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Steve felt his face fall. “I already told you, I’m not going to do anything to upset you again. If you don’t feel I’m ready to eat a lot, I’m okay with that.”

“Yeah, but I’m not. So we take me out of the equation.”

“I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Hey, Thunderbolt, I’ve changed my mind on the atonement deal. I’m calling in my chit.”

“Your chit?”

“Tab. Voucher. Credit. Promissory note. Favor. IOU. Or whatever the AssGard word for ‘you fucking owe me’ is. I’m ready to collect.”

“Certainly. How may I be of assistance to my bond brothers?”

“Tony,” Steve warned, not sure he wouldlike where this was going.

“Walk with me,” Tony insisted, as he ushered Thor toward the door while talking rapidly. “Here’s what you’re going to do: I want you to find Barton. If he’s not already awake, do your thunder-door pound and get him up. He’s had plenty of time to sleep off his emotional heebie-jeebies. If he’s any kind of guy, he’s _real_ eager to grunt and spit and scratch his balls and slag off any evidence of emotional shit, making him the optimal candidate to drive the circus boat. Then you’re going to round up Banner and Romanoff from whatever nookie-nook they’ve tucked themselves into and tell them to get ready for a day trip. Pack _lots_ of food and drink . . . as much as you think is a lot, then triple that. I get the feeling you’re all going to be really hungry, especially Steve.”

“Me!” Steve interrupted, coming up out of his chair, totally baffled. “Tony, what are you talking about? Where are we going?”

“Not we. You. And them. Not me.”

“What?”

“Subtracting me from the equation, remember? This is the ideal time for that Avengers-style rumble in the palm tree jungle everyone has been itching for.”

“You want me to go to a deserted island and . . . play? With Thor? And _The Hulk_?” Steve’s body nearly pounced at the suggestion, every muscle itching for activity, but instead, he rooted his feet to the ground, his worry for Tony overriding everything else. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Instead of answering him, Tony turned his attention back to Thor. “Steve is going to need a hardy breakfast before he can be up for any of this, so make sure that happens. Why don’t you start getting all this in place while Steve and I talk?”

“Such would be my pleasure.” Thor’s grin was beaming enough to give the sun a run for its money.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Tony said casually, gesturing his hand to ask Thor to bend until they were eye level. Tony then stepped forward, almost forehead to forehead, his dark eyes going deadly steel, his voice sounding more menacing than Steve had ever heard him. “Here’s where the biggest part of your debt comes in, blondie, so listen good. You keep your eyes on him every second of every minute you are out there. You are going to be tuned in to anything and everything . . . anything off with him—breathing, pain, nausea, even if he gets a hangnail—anything that indicates our super soldier isn’t up to super snuff. You see one iota of a hint of something like that, and you get him out of there, understand? No getting distracted by hot-dogging with Barton or playing with your boy-toy or anything else because, I swear, if something happens to Steve on your watch, I won’t give a shit about your super strength or your godliness or your powerful daddy. I will make you pay. I will hurt you in ways you never dreamed you could be hurt, and that’s a not only a promise, it’s a vow.”

“This is a vow I fully understand and honor. You have my word as warrior. Steven shall be safe in my charge.”

Tony didn’t respond, remaining still—too still. Whatever he was looking at now, it wasn’t Thor or this suite. Thor must have sensed the inner battle as well, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezing, giving him the smallest shake to get him back. “You are making a brave, wise choice, my friend. Do not question yourself. All will be well.”

Tony shook his head, looking around. He didn’t seem fully convinced, but he was back with them at least. “Yeah, it better be.”

“I think I really need to talk to Tony,” Steve said, nodding towards the door.

“Of course. I will take my leave and see to our arrangements. I look forward to seeing you at breakfast, Steven.”

Thor closed the door behind him when he left. Steve sat on the couch, patting the cushion beside himself. “Can you please sit down and tell me what is going on in that over-working mind of yours now?”

“I can talk to you, but I don’t think I can sit.” Tony started to pace instead, his progress taking him around the bed, down to the sitting area, then back up near the balcony doors as he spoke. “I’m out of control, baby. You saw that last night. Thunder Thighs and his lard ass notwithstanding, I don’t think my flashback was a random incident. I don’t do powerless well. All this shit has gotten triggered inside me and _telling_ myself it’s over . . . telling myself you’re okay . . . that’s not working. I mean, right now you have no idea how hard I’m fighting the urge to lock that door, push all the furniture in front of it, keep everyone and everything away from you, and hold on to you with all my might so nothing can touch you.”

Steve could actually see the struggle, Tony’s fists clenched tightly, his body both rigid and pulsating. Willing to do anything to help ease this anguish, he offered, “Then let’s do that. If that’s what’s going to help—”

“No, no, no. Don’t enable my crazy. I don’t need help in that department, believe me. I’ve got to get hold of this. The only way I know how to do that—the only thing that worked when I got out of that cave and thought I was going to climb the walls until my mind split from replaying all the scenarios of how things could have ended way worse—was to jam my brain to the brim with other data. I need to focus on what I do best. That’s where my superpower lies. I’ve gotta get it back.”

“Get back to being you.” Steve nodded, understanding now. “You need to work.” He knew how engrossed Tony could get in his projects, at times forgetting simple necessities like food and sleep. He had seen Tony go that route for a short time in Staten Island when he was escaping his emotions, but Steve had never considered the notion that such single-minded absorption could actually be a positive tool when the alternative was Tony mentally spiraling into darkness. “We’ll head home,” Steve decided. “Get you back in your lab.” Before the strategy finished formulating in his mind, Steve paused, recalling Tony’s conversation with Thor. “Wait a minute. You said you were going to subtract yourself from the equation.” Steve rose to his feet, all systems gearing to fight. “Oh, hell no! You think you’re leaving this island alone? Think again. Not happening. If you need to leave, we leave together, but the last thing I’m agreeing to is you heading off in this condition by yourself while I stay here and play, especially since I’m the cause of your anxiety in the first place.”

“Hey, hey, baby, cool down.” Tony stood before him, holding fast to his shoulders. “It’s my turn to be crazy, remember? You have to calm down and finish hearing me out. I’m not suggesting that, I promise. The last thing I want to do is cut our vacation short when I haven’t even gotten to _have_ a fucking vacation. No fucking way.”

“Okay.” Steve unclenched the jaw he hadn’t realized had locked and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m listening. Tell me your plan.”

“You need space to feel like you again. If I keep you locked in this room, under my crazy watch, where you’re afraid to get up and take a leak without telling me because I’m going to unspool—which I will—how are you ever going to find out if you really are better? And I know you. That bullshit I said last night was just me being a prick. You’re a man of your word. Your promise meanseverything to you. You’ll sit there and starve and let your muscles turn to cream of wheat before you’d do anything you think is going to push your neurotic lover over the edge. Which is why a little day trip to Hug-a-Hulk Island, under the watchful eye of people who are almost as protective of you as I am, should work well. You can test out your wings, and if you fall, someone will be there to catch you. I wish it could be me, but right now it can’t. I really hate that, but I can’t change it because if I dwell too much on what a shit I am, my head-rat-wheel will only continue to spin.”

“Maybe what you’re saying makes sense, but you’re still not telling me what _you_ plan to do, and I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

“I plan to be me. On the plane. I’ve got a cabin onboard I work from sometimes, nothing like the lab, but all the tech is interfaced with JARVIS, and I can immerse myself in enough schematics that I think I’ll be able to keep my brain distracted from the idea that you’re going to die on me the minute I let you out of my sight.”

“Aw, Tony.” Steve wrapped his arms around his love, pressing him tight against his chest. Tony was vibrating with the emotions he was working hard to contain, Steve able to feel the pain burning into his own chest. He wasn’t certain this was the best course of action, but with Tony struggling with an acute sensation of powerlessness reminiscent of how he felt in Afghanistan, the last thing he needed was for Steve to abort his plan. Tony couldn’t see how much faith Steve had in him, how much faith he was _worthy_ of. Words weren’t going to help that, but he had to say them anyway. “I know you don’t feel it, but you have been my rock through all of this. You’ve been strong, dependable, compassionate, astute, resourceful . . . the opposite of powerless. But I’ve just gotten a good primer on how the negative messages in our head don’t always reflect the truth. I think you’ve come up with a good plan. I’m willing to go along with this if you’re sure it’s what you want.”

“Sure?” Tony snorted into Steve’s shirt. “You want to know what I’m sure of? The last time my dick quit on me was when I got home after Rhodey scooped my almost dead carcass up from the sand. Just one of the many unwanted messages my insides sent to tell me I was fucked up. I went through shit then I don’t plan to go through again. Ever. Years of shit I pretended wasn’t there, but was. I’m not going back. I’m not saying I’m there yet—nowhere near—but I’d be an ass to ignore the warning signs: the panic attacks, the freaky flashback, the dead dick. I won’t risk coming that far off the wall again. I’ve got to get my head together _now_. That’s what I’m sure of.”

“Well, you can be sure of something else,” Steve said softly as he continued to cradle Tony to him. “You’re not going through anything alone. I’ve got you.”

“I’m not real versed in this relationship stuff, but I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be supporting you.”

“You _are_ the one who does that,” Steve said with certainty he hoped Tony would believe.

“Yeah, no, I think I’m more of a mess.”

“You’re my mess, remember? Just like I’m yours.”

“ _But understand, Steven, you are **my** mess. My beautiful, sweet, a-dork-able, hot mess, and you’re not scaring me off, so don’t waste what little energy you have trying.”_

Steve was relieved to hear Tony chuckle at having his words returned to him. Pulling back, Tony looked into his eyes, cupping his cheek as he let his thumb play lightly over Steve’s lips. “You _are_ mine. I _can’t_ go back to a reality where that fact doesn’t’ exist. Which is why you have to promise me, if I let you go, you’ll come back to me safe and sound.”

The fragility in Tony’s eyes told Steve how much he was being entrustedwith. For Tony, he would rise from the dead if he had to in order to return. “I promise.” Steve slipped his tongue out to tickle Tony’s thumb, flattening his palm into the small of his back to press them closer still. “And you promise me you won’t get on your plane and decide to subtract yourself _fully_ from the equation. No leaving.” They had come a long way since Tony disappeared from the tower, taking Steve’s light with him, but shadows of insecurity remained.

“Not leaving. Promise. In fact, I’ll be obsessing over the seconds until I can be with you again.” Tony pressed a tender kiss on Steve’s lips before disentangling them and stepping back. “Starting now, because if I don’t go quick, I’ll be locking you in the closet, for sure.”

 

~0~0~0~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested in knowing who Raffi is
> 
> Baby Beluga:  
> [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDx9zqDpSik) 
> 
> Brush Your Teeth:  
> [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dup3IArSNs) 
> 
> My personal fave: Down By The Bay  
> [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIlFBD8LmD8)


	8. Chapter 8

“You sure you’re up for this?” Steve asked as he and Clint made their way, one behind the other, down the steep, stone stairway, carrying the first load of supplies. The quickest way to the dock was through the front door of the villa and down the winding, stone footpath that looked to be carved naturally into the side of the hill, though you could also exit from the pool terrace and take the smoother pathway to the sandy part of the beach, then walk around to the dock situated on the rockier water side of the villa, the route Phil used when traveling in his chair. Until this morning, Steve hadn’t been on either path, having only glimpsed this one briefly upon his arrival—somewhere between puking his guts up in the driveway and being whisked into the villa. He hadn’t seen the dock or the boats or even the beach up close, and he was eager to see it all. Fortified by the amazing breakfast he had consumed—when had eating become almost sensual in its gratification?—he was pulsating with energy and vitality, but he wasn’t about to lose sight of the fact that Clint had just recently been given the go sign from Phil to leave his bed and suite.

“Fuck, yeah!” Clint sounded almost as eager to be free of shadows and dormancy as Steve felt. In fact, he began skipping down the uneven stairs two at a time despite the bulk of the satchels he was carrying, Steve more than ready to pick up his pace to follow. They both kicked up sand when they landed at the bottom, then Clint took off in a sprint toward the dock, Steve quickly following—then surpassing him—arriving first.

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” Clint laughed when he hit the dock.

“I feel like I don’t need this boat. Like I’d rather just swim to the island . . . or run across the top of the water.”

“Nah. Save it up a little longer. I get the feeling you’re going to need all your reserves when we get to the island. The Hulk has been cooped up a _long_ time.”

Steve understood the feeling too well. He was burning to let loose, but there was still a chance this energy spurt wasn’t permanent, so he did his best to harness the urge. Instead of heeding the impetus to race along the miles of open beach, he followed Clint along the long, white dock, past the motorboat he had glimpsed during the parasailing fiasco, to the large vessel tied up in front of it, the one that looked to him like a floating hotel from afar. Up close, the yacht was even more grand, though Steve didn’t take the time for a tour. He could explorewhen they set sail, knowing he’d need the distraction to keep himself from jumping overboard for a swim. For now, he and Clint stowed the supplies and headed back for more.

Thor had set out a _lot_ of supplies at the bottom of the villa steps, making Steve wonder if they planned to come back anytime this month. Of course, he would come back to Tony tonight no matter what, even if he had to walk. He hustled the bulk of the satchels down to the boat with a little help from Clint, needing only four trips to get it all aboard. By the time Bruce, Thor, Natasha, and Phil had joined them in front of the villa, all the gearhad been cleared away. Even though Steve knew Tony was long gone—having taken off before Steve had even started on his breakfast—he still found himself looking around for him anyway. His enthusiasm over this excursion was dampened by his concern for Tony and how much he missed him. He refused to allow Tony’s plan to fail, though. He intended to prove he was back in top form; prove it soundly enough to quiet Tony’s justifiable fears.

The Team, minus one, was quite the odd assortment standing out in the mid-morning sunshine. Phil was seated in Rambo wearing white cotton slacks, a blue, short-sleeved button-down, his light green sling with the coconut pattern, sunglasses, and a wide brimmed white hat. Clint was dressed like he was going on a mission: Black cargo pants, tee-shirt, jacket, and boots, all topped by dark, wrap-around glasses; completing the look were leather wrist bracers and a full quiver of arrows strapped to his back, which were in addition to the two quivers he had already stowed on the boat. Natasha was dressed in a slinky, strapless yellow sundress that fell barely to her knees, white sandals, sunglasses, and a black pack full of who-knew-what strapped on her back. Steve had only thrown on sweat pants and a tee shirt, though he had thought to wear boots since he planned on running—a lot. He did have on swim trunks beneath his sweats, wanting to be prepared for a cool dip, hoping to sweat enough to need one. Thor was decked out in his full Asgardian ensemble, complete with cape and hammer. And Bruce looked like Bruce: baggy gray trousers, a blue-checkered button-down with rolled sleeves and a breakfast stain, but no glasses. Steve realized the modest clothing would most likely end up in shreds when they arrived at the island and The Hulk joined the party if Bruce transformed before he had a chance to strip.

“ _Which is why he dresses like he shops in the Salvation Army dumpster,”_ Tony’s voice quipped in his head, repeating a phrase Steve had heard him say before. He found himself grinning, even as the emptiness of separation burned. 

“I want you kids to play nice,” Phil instructed with a grin at the semi-circle of Avengers surrounding him.

“You’re not coming?” Steve asked, surprised.

“I’m going to pass this time. I’ve got a lot of therapy to catch up on and I also believe someone should be close enough to keep tabs on Stark.”

“Thank you.” Some of Steve’s apprehension eased knowing Phil would be on the island with Tony. “If he needs me back sooner—”

“No worries. Clint knows to radio in every hour with updates and if I need to get a message to you, he’ll relay it.”

Steve nodded, grateful for his team’s preparation. Still, he couldn’t help questioning again whether he was making the right decision, going off to play while Tony was in distress. Tony had barely left his side since the day he fell off the tram, yet Steve was in the wind first chance he got.

“No brooding,” Clint insisted, bumping Steve with a shoulder nudge. “If it helps, think of this as a mission.”

“A mission undertaken at Anthony’s insistence,” Thor added.

A mission. He could do that. He had given Tony his word.

“Are we going to stand here all day, or get going?” Bruce whined, his body actually bristling. He looked close to giddy with barely contained eagerness.

“Come on,” Natasha said, slipping her hand in his. “We’ll head down to the boat. The rest of you, haul ass.”

“You heard the lady,” Clint grinned. He leaned to give his husband a goodbye kiss and exchange a few whispered words, before he took off behind them down the path.

“We had best commence before Clinton charters the boat without us.”

“I doubt he’s going without you, otherwise he’s going to have to wrestle The Hulk himself,” Steve noted.

“Your point is valid. Nevertheless, be aware that he who arrives last upon the dock shall be the spoiled chicken.”

“It’s rotten egg, Thor,” Phil corrected, but Thor was already leaping down the rocks. When Steve still couldn’t bring himself to follow, still unsure if this was the right choice, Phil powered his wheelchair forward to jar him. “What are you waiting for? You want to be the spoiled chicken?”

Steve looked at Phil, understanding the wise look in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “Not a chance.” He backpedaled twelve feet to give himself running room before charging at the cliff full speed and lunging into the air, bypassing rocks, steps, and racing teammates on his express path to the beach.

And it felt magnificent.  

~0~0~0~ 

 

Tony had barely set foot inside the plane when his cellphone started to vibrate. Panicking, he reached into his pants, digging it out, preparing for the worst. “What’s happened?”

“Why did it take you three rings to answer?” Coulson inquired crisply.

“Three what? It did not. Why are you calling? What happened to Steve?”

“Nothing happened. You agreed to check in when you reached the plane.”

“Which I just did,” Tony snapped, sagging into the closest seat until he could tamp down his shaking. “Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m trying to check up on you, which was the agreement. You left two hours ago. This island isn’t that big and I doubt you hit a traffic jam. Why are you just getting there now?”

“Because I took a drive, all right? The crew needed time to get the systems up and running on the plane. I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit in here with no air conditioning. I sweated enough for two lifetimes this week.”

“A drive where?”

“Really?” Tony asked, pulling the phone from his ear and staring indignantly at it, as if Coulson could see the sour pout from his end. “Do you need a note, too, Mama Bear?”

“What I need is for you to stick to the plan and stop being a smartass. I’m beginning to rethink the wisdom of this plan. I’m going to have Walt drive me there so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need eyes on me, Super Nanny. I need to be left alone.”

Ten seconds after he hung up on Coulson, his guilt kicked in, which only pissed him off more. He looked at the phone in his hand, wanting to throw it, but instead, he hit the button to reconnect the call. “Do over?”

He heard Agent take the long, deep breath, the I-need-to-marshal-every-last-ounce-of-self-control-to-deal-with-Tony-Stark sound. “Stark—”

“Yeah, I know. There’s nothing you’re getting ready to say that I don’t already know.” He was a fucking genius. He grokked how these conversations with Agent went. Taking pity on Coulson, he chilled himself. “Did they leave?”

“Yes.”

Tony ignored the kick to his guts, deciding it was a good time to tally the swirling lines on the expensive plane carpet. “Okay. Good. I guess.”

“Are you sure—”

“No. But what the hell? Look, I’ll do better at checking in. And you know I’ll pick up your calls no matter what because you could be calling me about Steve, so I can’t ignore you. There’s no reason for you to come here. Go do some leg lifts or something with your tasty therapy boy and don’t worry about me.”

“You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what I need to do. I’m hanging up now. But I’m telling you this time, so I’m officially _not_ hanging up _on_ you, okay?”

Phil’s sigh spoke volumes. “Every hour, Stark.”

“Roger-that.” As he disconnected the call and tossed his phone at the seat opposite him, the brain doodles started. _Roger that. Roger. Rogers. Steve Rogers. Steve. My Steve. My Steve Rogers. Steven Rogers. Roger. Roger. Rogers._

“Oh, for fuck sake!” He stood up, furious with himself. “I gotta get to work.” 

~0~0~0~ 

“You can drive anything, huh?”

It really wasn’t a question, and Clint never really answered, just grinned with satisfaction at Steve as he continued to pilot the boat towards their destination. They had chosen one of the farthest, most difficult to reach islands to insure optimum privacy, though Steve was wishing their destination was closer. Not that they had been on the boat all that long. Steve was just antsy. Maybe not as antsy as Bruce, who looked about ready to bust into The Hulk and carry the boat on his back, but a close second.

Natasha was content to sun herself on a lounge chair on deck while keeping a keen eye on Bruce out of the corner of her sunglasses as he paced the length of the boat in circles. Thor had already dipped into the food supplies—something Steve helped him with for a while, despite his breakfast, unable to resist the smell of the sandwiches. And now he was watching Clint steer their vessel and trying to convince himself the beauty of the Caribbean scenery and the brace of fresh air was enough to distract him from the increasing throb of his impatient muscles.

“You look like you’re going to pop,” Clint pointed out. “Maybe Thor should just fly you and ready-to-burst Banner to the island and we’ll catch up?”

Steve shook his head. “We came as a team. We stay together.”

“That team spirit shit is wired into your DNA, isn’t it?” Clint didn’t sound derisive exactly. Maybe a little befuddled.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Partnering was hard enough for me. First with Nat on missions—and beyond. Then in my personal life with Phil. Kinda thought I was at my max, there. I mean, Phil, he’s all about SHIELD, the team, the greater good, blah blah, which is why he’s an amazing leader, and a way better man than I’ll ever be. Still, being around a camaraderie junky for years never made the smell of team spirit any more palatable. Then you come along.”

Steve turned from the scenery, looking at Clint’s profile, able to see little behind the dark wrap-arounds and the tight expression. “Yeah? What did I do?”

“The first time I came on your radar, I was Loki’s fucking zombie boy. But you didn’t hold that shit against me. You had me suit up right beside you, trusted me to have your back. Captain Fucking America wanted me on the team despite—” Clint’s voice trailed off harshly, his attention focused on the expanse of water before him, or maybe something beyond.

“None of that was your fault.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He looked down at the white flooring beneath his feet, his mind seeing a snowy abyss instead. “Regrets are tough to shake. Doesn’t matter what people tell you about it not being your fault. What good is having all the strength in the world if you can’t grab one man’s hand and yank him back up?”

“You’ve yanked a lot of people back up, Cap. I know that doesn’t make up for what you lost. I know when I thought Phil was lost, I was ready to follow him. Takes guts to hang around. More guts than I might have had if you guys hadn’t come after me. Shouldn’t have mattered, I was gone. Not when it looked like Phil was gone. Shouldn’t have mattered to anyone. Yet you tracked me down and there you were, at that hospital, not letting go of my hand, yanking me back up. You came for _me_ , because nobody knew about Phil then.”

“Because you were worth coming for. You know, all of that team spirit baloney, remember?”

Clint’s stoic expression nearly cracked with a grin before going stony again. “I always thought of teams like family. But family to me would be defined as the people who can hurt you best because they know better than anyone where to press.”

Aware of the demons his ordeal had dredged up for Clint, Steve tread lightly. “And now?”

Clint shrugged. “There’s more than one kind of car. Countless varieties of music. No two arrows are even really the same. I figure there can be different types of teams . . . of families. A lot of them suck. But some have gods and monsters and superheroes, which isn’t such a bad thing.”

“That would make this the Avenger Family Vacation, right?” Steve chuckled, in full agreement.

 “Something like that, yeah.” Clint cracked a smile as well. “I need a beer. Come ‘ere, let me show you how to pilot this thing.”

“Clint, I don’t—”

“Yeah and in about five minutes, you’ll understand everything there is to know. Stark and Banner get credit for being the family geniuses, but nobody’s had to pick up the amount of shit you have in such a short time. Seventy years’ worth in under six months is nothing to sneeze at.”

Steve was laughing as he switched places with Clint. “I don’t think I’ve quite mastered all seventy years.”

“Only because you’ve had to take a few time-outs to save the world . . . and help rebuild it . . . put me and Phil back together . . . fall in love . . . and nearly die . . . oh, and then there’s vacation leave.” They were both laughing as Clint’s hands slid over the different controls, showing Steve what to do. “Come to think of it, you have been slacking a bit, Rogers. About time you stepped it up.”

 

~0~0~0~


	9. Chapter 9

“Hey, JARVIS. You miss me?”

“Indeed, sir. I trust your vacation went well.”

“Yeah, not so much.” Tony looked around at the small work space aboard his jet, still flipping switches and powering up. Compared to his real labs, this was a closet, and the equipment high school level, but he could get enough done in here to make a good stab at distraction.

“I detect no flight plan, sir. Will you be traveling to New York today?”

“Not traveling at all. Let’s just say I’m working remotely.”

“You made it abundantly clear not to entertain any attempts at work until your vacation concluded.”

“Yeah, rescinding that directive the same way I did the gag order. Hit me with the latest.”

The original point of the vacation was to get out of Dodge until the smoke cleared, leaving the fallout behind, so Tony had made sure all media feeds to the villa were cut off, including the ones on the cell phones and laptops belonging to his team. There was no way he was risking Steve getting a glimpse of the media firestorm they had left in their wake, especially the nasty stuff. He was fairly certain Agent would have found a way to crack JARVIS’ protocols if he wanted to, the man having no trouble waltzing into the tower at will. Widow and Banner probably could have intercepted some news, too, if they had tried hard, but he doubted they would have shown anything to Steve even if they did. Turns out, the drama unfolding on the island the past few days trumped Stony-gate by a mile, and no one had so far seemed inclined to spare time for tabloid gazing.

Except for Tony Stark.

Yeah, filling his spare moments between angsting over Steve by glancing at gossip mongering on his tablet might not have been the best choice. He told himself his unquenchable thirst for knowledge, his need to know everything everyone else did so he could then figure out the way to know MORE was the motivating factor.

Or, maybe it was masochism?

Yeah, probably masochism.

Glancing at the profusion of images JARVIS was displaying in the air around him, thicker than L.A. smog, he fingered through quickly, his mood bouncing between enraged, astounded, disgusted, touched, and amused. That his life was fodder for every news magazine in the free world—and some in the not-so-free—was about as original as the design of a Hammer hybrid sedan. Seeing Steve dragged through that mud was a different matter. Though in truth, the majority of conjecture painted Tony Stark as the corrupting perverted deviant who managed to sully the moral integrity of a beloved hero—yeah, that he could handle.

He was a little proud, actually.

Seducing and deflowering the golden boy with his wicked charm and degenerate magnetism, taking advantage of Steve’s old-fashioned naiveté, sounded kind of hot, actually. Well, not currently. Back when his dick wasn’t an uncooperative hunk of salami dangling uselessly between his sweaty thighs, the notion tweaked in the good way.

Why the hell did that feel like a decade ago?

Maybe because watching Steve physically and emotionally tortured and hovering near death could dampen even the libido of Tony Stark?

“Fox News for sure should be paying me royalties,” he declared. “They’ve been feeding off my carcass for days now. JARVIS, contact the legal team and see what remuneration we can squeeze out of them. All these tabloid rags, too. Whatever money we can bleed them for can go towards Operation Rebuild. Steve would like that.”

“Ms. Everett is already interfacing with the legal teams regarding exactly that, sir.”

“Of course she is.” Tony managed a smile. Madison was good. Damn good. Ugly as this media tumult was, he knew from experience how much worse it could be. And as ugly as the negative outcry was, the positive was a force to be reckoned with. Not a full week had passed, and the sensationalized headlines had already shifted off the front pages. More and more media outlets were focusing on the positive press, which had already tripled. GLAAD, HRC, PFLAG, Marriage Equality USA, The Matthew Shepherd Foundation, hell even the Lesbian Avengers—which was kind of ironically fitting, actually—were already rallying behind this hot-button issue.

“What do you know, J? I’ve never been a cause célèbre before. Not sure if I should be really impressed with myself or find the whole damn thing stupid. Why aren’t people happy just minding their own business?”

“Research indicates gossip is the human equivalent of social grooming among primates, a trend that has increased tremendously as the social networking era has become a greater—”

“Rhetorical, JARVIS. It was rhetorical.”

“Apologies, sir.”

“Christ, there are more rainbow flags than yellow cabs in Manhattan these days.”

“The proliferation is considerable outside the tower, sir.”

“Yeah, they make a nice contrast to the assholes with the misspelled hate placards tripping over their moral outrage out there. Though you have to admit the “God made Adam and Eve . . . not Tony and Steve” posters are kind of clever. Please tell me security is going to have that mess swept off my doorstep before we get home.”

“They are efforting the problem, sir. What is your estimated date of arrival?”

“From the looks of this, no time soon.” Tony sighed, sweeping his arm to disperse the most unpleasant images. He felt awful enough today. This stuff wasn’t going anywhere fast. From almost the moment The Hulk had caught his busted remains as he fell from the sky commencing their victory dance against the Chitauri, The Avengers had been at the center of media scrutiny. They were lauded as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and condemned as everything from lawbreakers to aliens to anarchists.

And now, apparently, immoral _faggot_ anarchists.

“Being a hero is supposed to be a good thing, right, J? I don’t remember John Wayne putting up with this shit in any of his movies.”

“John Wayne’s films were fictitious accounts—”

“JARVIS.”

“Rhetorical, sir?”

“Have you gone rusty since I left?”

“To the contrary, my data banks are running at optimum precision. I find no record of you ever viewing a John Wayne motion picture.”

“Was that my point?” Tony groused.

“I am not aware of your point as yet, sir.”

“You’re a real comfort, J. Listen, make yourself useful. I need to check in with Coulson every hour.” Tony looked at his watch. “The last time we spoke was—”

“Sixteen minutes, thirty-four seconds ago.”

“I was going with thirty-five seconds, but have it your way, diva. Just make sure I don’t miss check-in time with my parole officer or I’m going to have Chief Ironside rolling in here yanking all my power cords.”

“Duly noted.”

“The next thing I need are the files on. . . .” Tony’s attention wavered, his eyes still speed reading the scores of information in front of him. Articles, blogs, websites—did people really write something called RPF about him and Steve’s love life? “And they call me the pervert,” he muttered, making a mental note to read some of this IronShield stuff one of these days when he was in a better head space. For now, he was more interested in the emails he’d pulled from Steve’s account.

“Steve’s account,” he muttered. “Wonder if he even knows he _has_ email? JARVIS, delete these vulgar ones and step up the filters. People who can’t spell Jesus Christ have no business invoking his name.” The pile thinned immediately, and Tony focused harder. “I need to know more about these,” he demanded, swishing his finger over the particular email that had given him pause. “Are there many more like this?”

“Still scanning sir, but I count five dozen thus far.”

“Five dozen? It’s not even a week. Verify their validity and tell me if the numbers change.”

“Emails within the parameters I believe you are referring to verify as authentic.”

“Son of a bitch.” Tony fell into the chair behind him, catching his breath. “Is Madison aware of these?”

“Ms. Everett has a more extensive file of similar accounts. She has sent you a private correspondence regarding the issue.”

Tony moved to reach for his private email file, but his hand was shaking. “Hit me, JARVIS.” Tony began scanning the document JARVIS put on the screen, but then stopped. “No, I don’t believe this. Get her on the phone. Now.”

“Tony?” Madison did not sound happy to hear from him, the sharpness in her tone resounding through the cabin. “Tell me you are _not_ back from vacation. We agreed on a lengthy trip. You were supposed to give me time to get on top of this situation.”

“We’re not back.”

“Then why the hell are you calling me? You do understand the concept of vacation, right?”

“You’ve sent me emails.”

“Updates. To be read when you return. You aren’t returned. Stop reading. Go vacation.”

“I’m taking a brief vacation from my vacation.”

“Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Tony tangled his fingers in his hair to keep them from shaking. “Nothing is wrong,” he lied. “Nothing happened.” More lies. “Sunny days and moonlit nights according to plan.” _With a little dance with death in between._

“Then why are you on the phone with me instead of getting busy on the beach with your gorgeous boyfriend?”

“I read through some emails in Steve’s account. The ones . . . from the kids . . . college kids . . . teenagers. Pre-teens, even. Are you seriously telling me this is the case? These kids were going to commit suicide and the thing that kept them from going through with it was seeing me and Steve on the news?”

Madison’s sigh was heavy, her tone far less sharp. “A lot of young people face a tough road today. Cyber bullying, _Twitter_ , _Facebook_. In the old days, you had to worry about being beat up after school. Now, the bullies chase you everywhere. Suicide is the second leading cause of death for ages 10 – 24. Every day there are 5,400 attempts at suicide in kids grades seven through twelve. LGB youths are four times more likely to commit suicide than their straight peers and questioning youth are three times more likely. Each episode of LGBT victimization increases the likelihood of self-harm by 2.5 times on average. On college campuses—”

“Time-out,” Tony called, the facts and figures he was quickly summoning on screen bearing out the truth of Madison’s words. “Holy shit. This is horrible. How do I not know this?”

“The world is a busy place, especially for superheroes. Listen, Tony, you may not have personally known all the stats, but I’m aware of how many youth programs the Stark Foundation funds. You clearly have people and money vested in these issues, and that’s more than most people in your position can say.”

_Pepper._

“Yeah, I’ve got really good people,” Tony stated dryly. “What else do you need us to do?”

“I’m still formulating our strategies, but I’ve outlined some initial steps in the email updates for when you return—which better not be for a few more weeks. I’ve gotten some calls from members of the Advisory Board for the Trevor Foundation. It would be a good organization for you to be involved in. I also think you should consider filming a piece for the _It Gets Better Project_ , and I don’t mean for publicity purposes. They do good work. Having a video piece from someone like Captain America on their site would touch a lot of lives. And you too, of course. But especially Steve. No offense.”

“None taken.” Tony had developed a thick skin years ago, and was more than aware of his public persona. Besides, she was right. Steve Rogers was the person they must have had in mind when they coined the term ‘role model.’ And there sure wasn’t another person better qualified to talk about overcoming bullying and abuse to lead a meaning filled life. “I’ll look into all this today, but I need a little time before I hit Steve with it. He’ll want to help, no question, but we’ve had a rough couple of days here. We’re in the process of a reboot.” 

“Rough how? Anything the press could get hold of?”

“Hell no. No way.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I’ve got this situation well in hand, but I don’t need any more surprises. Stay on vacation and let this stuff rest until you’re back. Responses are being sent to the emails that most need them, no worries there. I’ll stay on top of it”

 “I don’t think these kids who are pouring out their hearts to Steve should be getting robo-emails in return.”

“Give me a little more credit than that, Tony.”

Tony took a minute to glance at the electronic folder of responses that had been sent, all personalized, compassionate, and filled with support information. “Sorry.”

“I have a nephew who wouldn’t be here today if the counselor on the other end of the hotline hadn’t said the right words. I _get_ this stuff, Tony, and I have a great staff. Trust me.”

“I can put JARVIS to work monitoring emails if you need.”

“Good to know. I’ll get back to you on that.” Her end of the line was quiet for a minute before she asked, “Tony, are you all right?”

“Me? Yeah, sure. Peachy. That’s me.”

“Look, I won’t deny you and Steve have kicked up a shit storm of epic proportions, but at the same time, you’ve saved lives and turned the spotlight on important issues. The tide is turning and you guys have set loose some major waves. Take solace in that on the days being a standard bearer feels like a big fucking pain in the ass.”

Tony felt the sourness of his laugh as he dragged his hands over his face. “Believe me, Madison, Stony-gate is the least of my worries right now.”

“Then leave this to me. Besides the fact that it’s what you pay me for, I’m having a damn good time. You, on the other hand, sound like shit. Don’t call me back again until you sound like a man having a wild, wonderful, romantic, stress-free vacation.”

“Understood,” Tony muttered as he swiped the button to disconnect the call and slumped down in his chair, swiveling one way, then the other. “You hear that, J? I’m supposed to be having a stress-free vacation.”

“Have you changed your mind regarding working today, sir?”

“That would be a negatory, good buddy.”

“Very well, sir. Which project folders are you interested in accessing?”

Tony paused, unsure how to respond. What he wanted was to bury himself in the most complex work he could drum up so he didn’t have to think about anything, but he realized that wasn’t the answer. Distraction wasn’t a permanent solution. Surely even he wasn’t thick enough to not have learned that by now.

“I don’t know, JARVIS. Unless we have a project that can insure nothing horrible can ever take Steve away from me then—hey, wait a second!” Tony jumped to his feet, the ideas coming so fast his head was spinning in the good way. “Yeah, that’s it. But bigger. He’s attached to the rest of them now, too. No going back. It’s like getting a boatload of in-laws dropped on my doorstep.”

“Are you referring to the Avengers?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m not saying they don’t matter to me, but you keep that to yourself, blabber mouth. If I do something for them, I do it for Steve, because if they get hurt, he’s hurt. Yeah, how did you not see this, JARVIS? Step up your game for fuck’s sake. They’re the only family he’s got and he’s lost too damn much already. Come on, chop-chop. Let’s go.”

“Accessing Avengers files B-167 through T-17.”

Tony slapped his hands together then spread them wide, brimming with enthusiasm as the files sprung up, filling the small cabin. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’m talking about.” 

~0~0~0~ 

Clint hadn’t even finished docking the boat when Bruce gave Natasha a hurried kiss and jumped overboard. The man who had spent the last few days at Steve’s sickbed raced through the surf, only to land upon the sandy shore in the form of a giant green Hulk, a trail of tattered clothing floating in his wake. Steve had witnessed the transformation several times since meeting Bruce, but it remained a breath-stealing sight. The roar The Hulk let out was enough to shake both boat and nearby trees, a sound that could have been frightening to someone who didn’t recognize it as the glorious burst of release and relief it was.

Steve turned to Natasha, whose first experience coming face to face with The Hulk was shattering, but who had since come to terms with him. Bruce had come a long way in a short time in his efforts to control the rage monster, who now recognized his team as friends not foes. Natasha actually smiled at the sight of Hulk bounding like a child bursting from a sweltering school building on the first day of summer vacation.

“Well, don’t stand there gaping at me,” she said. “You’ve got to be feeling almost as bottled up as he was.”

Steve grinned. “Little bit.” Okay, maybe it was an understatement. Steve’s muscles were twitching so hard he was practically spasming.

“Nah, he’s sticking with his team, right, Cap?” Clint teased as he shut down the boat engines.

Steve had been mustering every ounce of energy keeping himself in check, but watching Hulk running wild along the shoreline reminded him the point of this mission was about testing his systems—which craved a full-out trial run. “How about I meet you there?” he offered, relieved when Clint laughed and Natasha smiled indulgently, both nodding.

As if he’d plugged his finger in a socket, a burst of energy coursed through him, and Steve could no longer contain it. Clint was in the process of lowering the anchor, the yacht a safe distance from the shallow water near the beach, but with a running start, Steve was able to leap off the bow and land in a clump of sand, which kicked up around him. Before the granules had a chance to settle, Steve was off and sprinting, conscious thought fleeing his brain yielding to the call to run—fast.

He was pretty sure he had lapped the circumference of the island three times, his speed increasing with each pass until the scenery was a blur. Only Hulk’s roar alerted him that he had reached the shore again, directing his attention toward where his teammates were gathered, the unloaded supplies piled a safe distance from the tide. He forced himself to slow despite his body begging to continue. He could feel the welcome surge of adrenaline gushing through him, his heart pumping in a brisk rhythm, oxygen feeding every muscle, which stretched and thrummed with eagerness. Feeling this good after feeling so awful was exhilarating. He couldn’t rein in his grin, even as he apologized for not helping unload the supplies.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint responded as Steve joined the group. “Hulk and Thor did most of the work. Went quick. How you feeling?”

“Amazing.”

“Pretty Blue was sick,” Hulk declared, more forlorn than Steve had ever seen. He had learned to live with the nickname—along with the ribbing from Clint, Thor, and Tony it usually garnered—because getting The Hulk to call him anything else had been a lost cause. Hulk had nicknames for all of them, and it didn’t matter whether they liked them or not. That is who they were to him.

And who really wanted to argue with a Hulk?

“I’m better now,” he assured, grateful for the gift of recovery he had been given.

Hulk dropped to one knee, green eyes scrutinizing Steve from head to toe. A brawny hand came around Steve’s waist, the grip too careful to squish, but solid enough to lift him off the ground. Hulk’s face scrunched and he sucked in a sniff powerful enough to stand Steve’s hair on ends. “See,” Steve assured. “I don’t smell sick, do I?”

Steve was actually relieved when The Hulk shook his head. Surely, if he wasn’t fully healed, Hulk would smell it on him—though he doubted Tony would consider that solid proof any more than he trusted Thor’s otherworldly assessment of his condition. In fact, Tony probably wouldn’t be real happy about the Hulk picking him up in the first place, though Steve knew he wasn’t in danger.

“Where is he?” Hulk demanded.

“Tony? He stayed on the island with Phil because—”

“No! Not Tin Can. Where’s man who hurt Pretty Blue!” Hulk’s eyes went deep green and the fist that wasn’t cradling Steve curled to stone.

Steve realized Hulk had to be talking about his father. Bruce’s emotions about the memories Steve’s fevered brain dredged back to the surface must have run deep for them to have affected Hulk so keenly. His eyes darted around, his nose inhaling again, searching the vicinity for prey.

“He . . . my . . . he went . . . .” Steve tried to spit out a full sentence, but his throat closed and his chest tightened. He hadn’t exactly made peace with all this, and the question was unexpected.

“Hulk SMASH the bad man who hurt you!”

Lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed two rows of tombstone teeth,Hulk stood to full height, muscles tensing for battle.

“Have caution, my giant friend,” Thor insisted, his voice steely. “While I concur with your rage in this matter, it is not prudent to speak of smashing when you still possess Steven in your grasp. You will harm him.”

“I’m all right,” Steve assured, Hulk’s grip still solid, but not clenching.

“You talk stupid, Long Hair. Hulk never hurt Pretty Blue. He wears the star. Pretty blue eyes always look at Hulk kind, not mean. Not scared. Put Hulk on team. Team here to find the bad one, yes?”

“Uh, nooo,” Clint corrected. “Actually, we’re here to _play_. You know, have fun? Take in the sun. R  & R. Get a little exercise. Fresh air. Blow the stink off. Didn’t Bruce clue you in on any of this?”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Hulk grunted, nodding. “First, SMASH the one who hurt Pretty Blue.”

“He’s dead.” Steve forced the words out, swallowing the bile in his throat. He flattened both hands on Hulk’s wrist, patting him. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

“You sure?” Hulk’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Steve.

Steve nodded, pushing the unwanted memories from his mind. “I’m sure.”

“Good. Better if Hulk smashed.”

“Gotta agree there,” Clint cracked.

“He can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Steve said sadly.

“No sad eyes.” A big green finger ruffled Steve’s hair. “Time for play!”

The shadow lifted, Hulk’s demeanor immediately lightening. He grinned at Steve eagerly. His enthusiasm was contagious and Steve found his own smile. “You’re right. Thanks, buddy.”

“Nobody plays until you put Steve down,” Natasha insisted.

Steve was immediately returned to ground level, his shirt not even wrinkled. “Yes, Bossy Pants,” Hulk grumbled.

Clint burst out laughing, Thor stood gaping, and Natasha—well, her expression was a mix of icy wrath and what passed for chagrin on her usually cool spy face. Judging by Natasha’s reaction, Clint’s chortling, and the fact that up until this moment, The Hulk had only ever referred to Natasha as Red, Steve deduced this new moniker was plucked somewhere from Bruce’s half of the brain, and maybe wasn’t one intended for an audience.

“Oh, shit,” Clint chided. “Banner is sooo not getting any tonight, right, Bossy Pants? Or is that Bossy Pants baby? Bossy Pants sweetheart? Bossy Pants—”

Clint only managed to dodge her drop kick by a hair, quickly opening up more distance between them as Steve caught her arm and kept her from advancing. “Hey, if I can live with Pretty Blue, I think you can handle this. Besides, isn’t it better to save your energy? We’ve got an active day in front of us.”

“Bird made a funny,” Hulk declared, Natasha the only one remaining not amused. Still, she pulled herself together, Steve only now noting she had changed from her sundress to a more ninja-looking ensemble, complete with backpack, in the brief time he had been running. Steve realized he was the only one who didn’t come here with any gear, his shield and suit back in New York because why would he bring gear on his first vacation?

“Let’s stop fucking around and do what we came here to do,” Natasha hissed.

“Sounds good to me,” Clint declared, still grinning. “Let’s get this rumble in the palm tree jungle underway.” He strapped on the quiverthat had been resting near the pile of supplies, then clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “Okay, listen up. Steve isn’t allowed to come home with any significant bruises or Stark will push us all out of his plane on the trip home . . . if we live that long. So that limits Cap’s physical contact to, you know, wrestling, skirmishing, scuffling. Copy?”

Everyone nodded except Steve, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. Clint was right about Tony.

“But don’t worry, Big Green, you can kick the shit out of Thor to your heart’s content, so there’s still plenty of fun to be had.”

Thor turned and raised his eyebrow at Clint, looking appropriately affronted. “And what of you?”

“Me? You’ll have to catch me first.” Before his last syllable resonated, Clint had yanked an arrow from his quiver, nocked and fired, and tapped a button on his bow that deployed and anchored a high-tensile line. Grabbing hold of the make-shift zip line, Clint hooked his right bracer over the thin wire, and before Steve had a chance to really comprehend what was going on, a tiny mechanized device, cleverly hidden in Clint’s armguard, hauled him up and into the trees. Hulk let out a gleeful roar before backhanding an unprepared Thor so hard, he flew a mile out into the water before coming down with a geyser-sized splash.

“Tag, you’re it, Teddy,” Clint’s laughing voice called from somewhere amongst the trees.

Nat leapt forward, climbing The Hulk like a staircase until she reached the top, hanging on to his hair for purchase as she seated herself on his shoulder and called, “Time to go bird hunting, big boy. You better fly, Barton.”

“Hey, wait a minute? Who called teams—shit!”

Steve heard before he saw the whirl of Mjolnir whizzing overhead on its flight towards the miffed Asgardian bobbing in the ocean. Before the hammer hit Thor’s outreached hand, a bigger, greener hand scooped around Steve’s waist. His journey into the water was far less potent than Thor’s, more the impact of a horse shooing a fly with its tail, but he was plunged under none-the-less. By the time he swamto the top, Hulk was bounding full speed into the jungle with Nat riding atop like a rodeo cowboy, and Thor was flying over him on a brisk trajectory towards the beach.

Spitting out a mouthful of salt water, Steve chuckled, “I guess it’s on,” before commencing his vigorous swim back to the beach. 

~0~0~0~


	10. Chapter 10

“Sir, Agent Coulson insists that my meticulous update does _not_ , as he put it, _count_ as an acceptable communique of your condition.”

“ _Hmmm_?” Tony muttered distractedly, shoulder deep in holographic read-outs, his mind buzzing at a speed that barely perceived JARVIS’ voice, let alone the words.

“He insists upon a personal briefing.”

“Brief what?”

“A briefing, sir.”

“Are you talking about my briefs? Yeah, it is a little hot in here. My balls are sweating. Crank up the a/c.”

“Agent Coulson, sir.”

“What does Agent Coulson want with my balls? JARVIS, I need the data on every piece of work done in the field of expandable polymer fibers in the last three years. And where did you get this crap you gave me on prosthetics? From Fred Flintstone? I said current, J, _current_.”

“Downloading now. What shall I tell Agent Coulson?”

“Who?”

“Agent Coulson.”

“Coulson? Didn’t I tell you to send him updates? Christ, JARVIS, what are you having—a spa day? Get on that.”

“He insists on speaking with you personally.”

“Take a message,” Tony grumbled, typing furiously.

“Perhaps I should relay his message first. Unless he speaks with you directly, he will issue an order to have SHIELD employ an electromagnetic interface against this air craft, which would successfully disrupt the electronic control systems of this aircraft and render your current work—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tony groused, stepping back from his diagrams, fisting a clump of hair as he paced. “Patch him through!”

“Stark?”

“You’ve got my attention, Uncle Phil. Satisfied?”

“This doesn’t have to be this hard. If you would simply follow the agreed upon protocol—”

“Which I suck at. Face it, I’m a bad boy. You gonna spank me?”

“You might be surprised one day,” Phil warned in full Coulson droll. Tony actually grinned at that, shaking his head in admiration.

“You really are okay, you know that, Agent?”

“Okay enough for you to stop dodging my calls?”

“And take away all the fun? What are you going to threaten me with next? Gamma radiation? Plague of locusts? Martian invasion? I have no doubt you could pull off all of the above.” Utilizing the forced break, Tony snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, along with a protein bar, which he opened by tearing the paper with his teeth and spitting the debris to the floor. He fortified with two gulps and a quick bite before forcing himself to ask the question he didn’t want to ask and most needed answered. “What’s the latest word from the island of misfit action toys?” He’d managed to relocate the anxiety from his head—clearing space for his brain to function—to the pit of his gut, where it festered like the worst case of indigestion in history. He’d been popping _Rolaids_ like _M &Ms_ since he got here, with little relief. He’d been away from Steve a total of six hours, forty-six minutes, twenty-four seconds . . . twenty five . . . twenty six. . . .

“Playtime has been an unqualified success thus far. No troubling reports.”

“Yeah, but how often does Barton—”

“Agent Barton checks in promptly and efficiently, as directed, unlike some people.”

Okay, so sticking out his tongue and making the ‘blah blah blah’ face was totally nine-year-old, but Tony didn’t give a shit. “Easy to be teacher’s pet when you’re _shtupping_ the principal.” The minute the words were out, Tony smacked himself in the head with the half-full plastic water bottle. Why was the voice in his head responsible for warning him about crossing the line always in first gear when his mouth raced in fifth? “A remark that qualifies as tasteless, even by my standards, in light of your current condition. Are you rethinking your position on spanking?”

“How about you update me on how the projects are going?” Agent-speak for: Let me get you talking enough that I can discern your mental state.

“I’ve actually got something nice for you, Agent Coulson.” Tony swiped the holographic images until the one he was focused on moved to the foreground. “I know you’ve nixed the whole ‘looking like a robot’ thing, which is truly ancient thinking, and kinda proves my theory you watched too much _Lost in Space_ in your childhood, but I’m talking about something high-end. I’ve done some work with small-scale integrated sensory tech that could get you up out of Rambo faster.”

“I’ll look at your specs, Stark, but I haven’t given up on old-fashioned healing yet.”

“I wasn’t asking you to. We’re talking more of an assist, you know, like your therapy boy only internal—and not fucking Thor.”

“He doesn’t fuck Thor during our therapy sessions, so it’s a moot point.”

“I’m not sure fucking Thor is moot—moot fucking? What would be the point, anyway? I mean Thor has his god-sized flaws, but you gotta admit he’s probably killer in the sack.”

“Stark.”

“Right. Right. All fucking aside, I wasn’t talking about your legs this time. I know how you feel about robotic legs—which, again, I’ll point out—”

“Retro thinking. _Lost in Space_. Got it.”

“Actually, from what I’ve seen, what you’ve got are legs itching to reach the next level and a bum arm holding them back. Varying combos of Steve, Thor, and Walt have been shouldering your arm’s share of the load in order for your legs to strengthen through the killer hard work you’ve been putting into those therapy sessions. What if there was a way for your arm to bear its own burden? I mean, I can’t heal it, but I’m confident I could provide an assist.”

“You mean like a brace?”

“More of a micro injectible.”

“We’ve talked about this before and I’m not comfortable—”

“Hear me out. This is Stark tech I’m talking about, personally designed by yours truly, that I wouldn’t let anybody but maybe Banner come near. We’re not talking the mad scientist shit devised by SHIELD who wouldn’t hesitate to go all Spock’s brain on you if it benefitted the agency. Your fears are valid—I’ve seen some scary experimental data buried in the crypts of SHIELD’s servers. But I would never turn you into a robo-zombie agent or any kind of experiment. You want to stay human and you want to stay Phil Coulson. I have a vested interest in making sure both happen. I’ve kind of gotten used to you as is, you know?”

The silence on the other end of the line went on long enough for Tony to wonder if he’d lost the call. When a quick keyboard check with JARVIS confirmed that wasn’t the case, Tony clued in on what might be giving the usually sage agent pause. Saving Phil the discomfort of a schmaltzy scene, he spoke rapidly into the void.

“What’s blowing your mind more? That I’ve paid enough attention to know how much progress you’ve made in therapy? That I was able to move off my stubborn fixation with the bionic leg-braces idea you quashed? My familiarity with the hush-hush ecret SHIELD files detailing their scary experimental bio and robotic work? Or was it the mushy crap there at the end and how I’ve picked the lock on your Room 101?”

 The pause was brief this time, followed by a dry chuckle. “All of the above.”

“Cool. Yay me.” Tony allowed time for two spins in his swivel chair, preening his feathers, before rummaging through his readouts again. “So what else you want updates on? The stealth arrows that dissolve upon impact that I’m designing for your boy? The advances I’ve made with nanomaterial in my design of Steve’s new suit? Or the improved Widow’s sting I’m developing that can put down a T-Rex while coming in at half the weight of her current weapon of choice? Those projects are all still in full swing, but I’ve also been updating my specs on a little project I like to call Bulk Shorts. Think bike shorts, only malleable enough to work on a Hulk ass. Boxers for Banner, but with the ability to expand when the Hulk needs more leg room—and retract when Mean Green tags Bruce back in. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of looking at his junk every time he turns back to Banner and his shorts are shredded wheat.”

“You expect to get all this done this afternoon?”

“Even I’m not that talented. No, I admit, these are works in progress that I started not long after the Battle. I’m revisiting them today, but I’ve got a long way to go.”

“I’m actually interested in why you chose these projects to delve further into today when you’ve been griping about the problems with your Mark VIII designs for weeks. Would have thought you’d be anxious to work on your Iron Man upgrades.”

Tony wasn’t fooled by the artificial casualness. “Don’t go shrink on me. I know I can’t keep him from dying.”

“Do you?”

“Maybe.” With a flick of his hands, thirty-four variations of suit and armament schematics filled his vision. “I can sure as hell increase the odds in my favor, and right now that’s sounding pretty good.”

“So this work is helping with your anxieties?”

“Meaning, am I freaking out any less about Steve being scarily mortal and almost being ripped away from me by focusing my brain power on the things I can do to protect him and the people who matter the most to him?” Finally allowing for a breath, Tony paused, his topsy-turvy innards calling him _liar_ before he even hedged, “Yeah, a little. Maybe. Whatever gets you through the day, right?”

_Maybe I’m going about this all wrong? What if I built a bunker? A hidden bunker, where I could take Steve and never let anyone find him? That’s got to be better for the odds, right?_

“So what about Thor?”

Phil’s question came out of left field, just odd enough to catch Tony’s attention and veer it from the mental spiral. “What’s that?”

“Thor. You didn’t mention him in your list of projects.”

“Yeah, I’m a little stumped there. I’m not looking to leave ole Teddy off the team, but what do I build for the god who has everything?”

“God-strength condoms?”

“Do you think his sperm is super?” Tony perked up at the thought.

“I have no firsthand knowledge on that topic, nor any research findings. Not sure I like the idea of the earth being taken over by half-Asgardian babies, though.”

 _Half-Asgardian—half-ass. Funny. Wait. Maybe not_. “He and Loki don’t share DNA, right?”

“No, thankfully. Though legend implies Thor himself is a product of one of Odin’s indiscretions on Earth, you know, half-mortal.”

“So daddy All-Father liked to dip his wick in some Thorgy action, too, huh? I have GOT to download your reading list, Coulson. Thankfully, from what I’ve seen—and had the misfortune to smell—Thundar is currently favoring male partners, so at least your birthrate worries are lessened.”

“Not sure the partner’s gender solely determines conception on Asgard.”

Tony spit the last of his water across the cabin. “Are you shittin’ me? Now I’ve really got to know what you’re reading. Wait. Check that. I haven’t recovered from the whole Asgardian moonshine fiasco. Let’s table the he/she reproductive organs bedtime story for another day.” Tony realized he was grinning and his gut wasn’t quite as tight. “And you’ve done a helluva job distracting me, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Have I passed my verbal ink blot tests enough to be allowed to go back to work?”

“For this hour, sure.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony whined, folding his arms stubbornly. “I really have to go through this every hour? I’m working here.”

“We can leave out the part about Thor’s sperm for brevity.”

“I’m hanging up on you now. And it’s _real_ hanging up on you hanging up this time.” Tony swiped a finger across his screen to make the call disappear before sticking his tongue out at Phil—who wouldn’t see it, making the whole gesture stupid. 

~0~0~0~ 

“Hey! I called time-out!”

“Stop whining. Are you twelve, Barton?”

“You hit me in the head with a fucking coconut.”

“I aimed for your least vulnerable spot. You should thank me. Would have felt worse in the balls.”

“ _Ca-ap_ ,” Clint complained, dragging Steve into this as referee.

Steve was sitting on the sand finishing his sandwich, trying hard to keep a straight face. “He’s right, Nat. Technically he _did_ call time-out.”

Natasha sneered at him before muttering under her breath, “Pussies.”

“Nat doesn’t always acknowledge the line between real battle and training exercises,” Clint explained as he reached into the large cooler for a sandwich and a bottle of water.

“When you pre-schoolers are done with snack time, I’ll be in the jungle with Hulk and Thor.”

Natasha disappeared so stealthily, Steve had to blink to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “And she’s gone,” he muttered, laughing. “Doesn’t she ever stop to eat or drink?”

“Sure. You just don’t see her.”

Steve had stopped to eat—a lot. More than he could ever remember eating before. It was like having a tapeworm, no, a tape-piranha, inside. He was eating more than Thor and Hulk combined, which was crazy. “This is the closest I’ve seen her to the supplies and I’ve been here . . . quite a bit.”

Clint grinned at him as he squatted in the sand to eat his sandwich. He was caked with sweat, sand, scrapes, bruises, with a small bush worth of leaves and twigs tangled in his clothing and short hair. Steve knew he didn’t look much better—minus the bruising, since they had all been playing very carefully with him. He didn’t mind. Tony didn’t need to see him come back bloody and battered, that was for sure. Besides, he was getting plenty of work-out. For a big guy, Hulk was _fast_. Steve was currently taking an eating break after their lively game of dodgeball. Hulk was more like a wrecking ball, and Steve was doing all the dodging, which required more running, jumping, tree climbing, and flying off cliff edges than would have been healthy in an average dodgeball game. As an added challenge, Clint had been shooting arrows at them both from unknown locations. Unlike Hawkeye’s combat arrows, these were harmless—though shot no less precisely—tipped with purple paint which splattered on you to signify a direct hit, Clint’s not subtle way of keeping score. Steve was proud of the fact that so far he only had one purple stain on his shirt. Hulk hadn’t fared quite as well, and was pretty ticked about it. In fact, last time he had seen Clint, Hulk was chasing after him, trying to pluck the launched arrows from the air, looking like a large green and purple splattered Labrador engaged in a game of Frisbee—while hawk hunting.

“How’d you shake The Hulk?” Steve asked. Hulk was about as fond of the time-out concept as Natasha.

“The last arrow I shot, Thor flew by and snagged it. Big Green took exception to having his game butt-in on and chased off after Thor. Last I saw them, they were uprooting the northern shore of the island in an epic wrestling match.”

“I can’t believe you walked away from that.” Steve got up and went to the cooler, grabbing another sandwich, and two bags of chips from the box beside it. “You love watching those guys spar.”

“They’ve had a few thrillers today, for sure, but I think they’re just warming up. Figured I’d take the opportunity to fortify and reload.”

“And it was your turn to check on me, right?” They were all trying to be subtle, but Steve was aware he hadn’t been completely alone since they arrived on the island. Besides, Natasha never would have let Barton off the hook just because he called time-out. No, it was Clint’s turn all right.

“Hey, you wouldn’t want me to be lying to the boss when I called in my reports, right? I’d be in deep shit. Gotta assess you for real before I report in.”

Steve nodded, grateful for the scrutiny. He hadn’t proven the best judge of his own condition, so the extra eyes of his team were heartening. He knew they wouldn’t let him get away with anything, so the fact that nobody had tried to slow him down today verified his own assessment that he was back to fighting form. “Does Phil tell you how Tony is doing?” The only flaw in this otherwise great day was being apart from Tony, knowing he was dealing with his stress and strain alone.

“Tony’s holed up on the plane with JARVIS, his screens, and his mega-brain charged up and firing, which is a good thing.”

Steve nodded his agreement. “That’s what he needs.”

“And this is what you need. You’re fucking impressive for a dude just up out of his sickbed. What do you say we team up for a while? Give em’ all hell.”

“You weren’t too happy when Nat teamed up with Hulk earlier.” That round had ended with Hulk giving Natasha a power boost, enough to catch a bird in flight, and land him in the ocean with a pissed off Black Widow on his back. It might not have rivaled Hulk and Thor’s bouts, but it was still entertaining to watch.

“Revenge is its own reward, right?” Clint finished his sandwich and began reloading his quiver. “You with me? Or are you going to sit here and eat out the whole cooler, Jabba?”

“ _Star Wars_ , right?” Steve responded before shoving the remains of his latest sandwich into his mouth. The mental image that went along with his recollection of Jabba was not exactly flattering. “Hey!” he grumbled, crumbs drooling out of his mouth.

“Very attractive,” Clint teased.

“Do I look fat?” Steve looked down, pulling his tee shirt up over his abdomen, laughing hard enough to nearly choke on the food he was still trying to fully swallow.

“You’ll never fit into your prom dress now . . . unless you team up with me and come work the flab off.”

“Okay, fine.” Steve finished swallowing—then dumped the contents of his potato chip bag into his mouth quickly, savoring each salty crunch before he wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m ready. But only if I get to ride on one those mechanized zip lines of yours.”

Clint cocked an arrow into this bow, shooting towards the tallest tree. “It’s the only way to fly.”

“Unless you have a magic hammer. Or an iron suit. Or even a fancy personal jet plane—”

“Shut up, fatty. And try not to weigh down my line.” 

~0~0~0~ 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, blinking eyes that burned from strain. He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at the current screens before him. Long enough for the drool on the forearm cradling his cheek to dry; notlong enough for Agent to call and interrupt his navel-gazing, so not a full hour. Lifting his head from the work table he was slumped over, he shook himself, slapping the side of his face with his right hand. “Snap out of it, Stark. JARVIS, get Dummy in here with some coffee now.”

“May I remind you that your present location is aboard your aircraft, which is currently located on Providenciales of the Turks and Caicos island chain, while Dummy remains in Stark Tower in New York City.”

“So that would be no on the coffee?”

“If you wish, I can contact a member of your ground staff and direct them to your location to prepare your coffee.”

“I don’t want anybody here. If I wanted somebody here, they would be here.”

“In that case, this is your next best option, sir.” A screen appeared, practically under Tony’s nose, detailing the schemata of the plane’s coffeemaker, with step by step details on how to operate it.

“Cute,” Tony sneered, swiping the screen out of his face. “Now try making yourself useful. Let me see the work log for today.”

The printouts confirmed what Tony already knew. He’d been aboard the plane ten hours, eleven minutes, three seconds. His work output had been steady—considerable progress made on all projects with the exception of the folder he had been staring at for forty-eight minutes now. He could work harder than this in his sleep, so lethargy was not the reason for his blockage.

“This should be the one I want to complete the most. It _is_ the one I want to complete the most.” Tony was pissed at the way his hand shook every time he brought it near one of the screens. “What the fuck good is any of this if I can’t. . . .”

“Can’t what, sir?” JARVIS asked into the prolonged silence.

Tony stared, unblinking, at the read-outs for the Captain America suit he had been developing since The Battle. Having a shield was all well and good, but Steve needed more. Tony had made strides reconfiguring nanomaterial in a manner that made it more lightweight and flexible without giving up the armor-like protection, but he remained unsatisfied. If Tony could have gotten his hands on vibranium and fashioned a whole head-to-toe suit from it, he would have, but would even that be enough? Steve was super, not immortal, a truth all Tony’s formidable mechanical skills and brain power could never change. He had toyed with the idea of creating an Iron Man-like suit for Steve, but had to squash those plans. Steve would hate it, and besides, Tony hadn’t managed to build a suit to make himself invincible, so the idea wasn’t going to protect Steve any better.

Tony stood, pacing restlessly, his hands twisting around each other in one direction then the other as he tried to stave off the increasing tension. Coming here to work today was supposed to be helping. That was the plan. Tony wasn’t much for following other people’s plans, but this one was _his_ and therefore it should have been ingenious. “It has worked. It has,” he argued with himself. The hours he spent buried in designs for the other Avengers projects had busied his mind and flooded him with the high of empowerment, washing the stagnant taste of helplessness from his pores. When he was buried in his work, he was supreme Tony Stark, operating at peak capacity, the best he could be. The best he was capable of being.

Or was he?

“Who am I kidding, J?”

“Pardon, sir?”

Thoughts were buzzing through his head at their usual rapid speed. Problem was, they weren’t the kind he was used to. Not in the past, anyway. But lately. . . . Time to face the facts. _Maybe you can close a door after you’d opened it, but you have to want to, don’t you?_

“Okay, great, I don’t need to be going all fortune cookie in my head. JARVIS, get Pepper on the phone. I need to talk to her. Now.”

After a moment, JARVIS reported, “Ms Potts is currently in a meeting with—”

“I don’t give a shit if she’s meeting with the president. I need to talk to her. Come on, J, chop-chop.”

Almost a full minute passed, time Tony fruitfully used to spin in circles in his chair until Pepper’s voice echoed in the cabin, sounding harried and worried. He had purposely turned off the facial screen, not wanting her to get good look at him. “Tony? What’s wrong?”

“Why is nobody happy to get calls from me today? Well, except for Agent. He likes my calls. Insists on them, even.”

“Are you drinking?”

“Only water since JARVIS won’t make me coffee.”

There was a great deal of background noise on Pepper’s end indicating she was someplace bustling with people. “JARVIS? Why are you working? Aren’t you on vacation? I thought for once you were going to take a real vacation.”

“Oh, this one’s been real all right. Maybe a little too real, but yes, I’m on vacation. Avengers style.” He could tell by her voice she was walking at a brisk pace, probably multi-tasking on her tablet as she walked. “Sounds like _you_ need a vacation.”

“Is that what you called me for? To tell me to take a vacation? Because you realize you quashed any chance I had of taking so much as a day off for the next six months with the stunt you pulled at the press conference.”

“It wasn’t a stunt,” Tony defended, tensing, his blood going hot. “What happened at that press conference was more real than any of the phony PR bullshit I’ve been slinging for my entire life and, I already told you, I’m not apologizing for it, not even to you.”

“You’re right. I’m the one who’s sorry.” Her tone changed and he recognized the sincerity.

“Not your fault. I called you out of the blue after I expressly told you I didn’t want to discuss any business on this trip, while you’re in the middle of juggling the Stark Industries bedlam I set in motion. Caught you off guard, huh?”

“Little bit.” The background noise on her end muted, Pepper more than likely sequestering herself in a private space. “Are you going to tell me why you called?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“We are talking.”

“Not about this.”

“About what, then?”

Tony didn’t respond, staring again at the uniform read-outs, rethinking the wisdom of this call. “Haven’t worked up to it, yet. Not sure I even should.”

“Have we really strayed that far from being friends?” she asked sadly.

“You’re not my friend. Never were. It was always bigger. You know that.”

“Same here.” He could hear her smile.

“Let’s go with small talk.”

“You suck at small talk.”

“Come on. Let me dip my toes in the water before I dive. How’s Michael?”

“Well, I’m not sure, since I haven’t been seeing him for over six months.”

“Wait, what? No, that’s not right. The guy now, the one with all the tennis racquets.”

“His name is Jordon and he plays golf, not tennis, but thanks for keeping track.”

“Sorry. Must’ve lost track after Rhodey,” Tony muttered, pissed to realize the words came out of his mouth, rather than stay in his head where they belonged.

Pepper sighed. “Are we really going there again? Rhodey and I dated for a very brief time, and it’s long over. When are you going to let it go?”

Tony’s jaw locked, making the words come out terse. “What do you care? You’re not the one I’m still pissed at.”

“Tony, he’s your friend.”

“Should have thought of that before he slept with you.”

“What makes you think we slept together?”

“So you didn’t?”

Another sigh, heavier this time. “I don’t discuss who I sleep with, remember? And if this is what you called for, I have work to do.”

“It’s not what I called for.” Tony was up and pacing again. This whole thing was crazy. He was crazy. And now he’d manage to piss Pepper off, too. Not good.

“Tony, what’s wrong. None of this is like you. Where are you? Where’s Steve? Did you do something to screw up?”

He probably should have been offended, but why? The question made sense. He would have asked it if he was her talking to him. _Or even me, talking to me . . . shit, really? Shut up._ “Um, no, actually, I didn’t screw up. I don’t _want_ to screw up. Which is why I need to tell you something. Or maybe I just need to hear myself say it.”

Pepper cleared her throat, her tone apprehensive when she spoke again. “What is it?”

Tony took a deep breath, looking at everything around him: The screens, the walls of the cabin, the small window overlooking the tarmac, his chair and worktable. His eyes jumped from one to the other as his stomach did its own bouncing dance. He was hoping he could open this place inside him like a file, perusing the contents with a scientist’s eye, but nothing about this felt analytical, leaving him fumbling. “I didn’t get it, when you left. I mean, yeah, I’m a schmuck most of the time, and you could always do better. _That_ , I would have got. Would have made sense. Only _that_ wasn’t the reason.”

“Tony, come on,” she said softly. “Don’t do this. We’re good now. Have been for a long while. We’re in a good place.”

“Best place,” he agreed readily. “What we have, _this_ is what we’re good at. What we were always good at. The other thing, we weren’t good at. And all the wanting in the world doesn’t make you good at that. It makes you hurt each other, and I hate that I hurt you.”

“I hurt you, too.”

“Mostly, I hate how angry I’ve been at you. You didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t shake it. I can now. Now I know what it’s like to be _that_ scared. To want to do _anything_ to never have to feel even remotely close to that level of fear again. I owe you an apology.”

Since they were words she rarely heard from him, especially when they weren’t dragged out of him, it was understandable her end of the line was silent for a while. Being Pepper, though, she regrouped quickly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yeah, well, you kinda don’t know the stuff I said to you . . . in my head, I mean. And to your pictures, oh, those pictures got a tongue-lashing, for sure.”

“I don’t want to know, thank you.”

“Of course, I never got to the point of sticking pins in dolls or anything—”

“Tony.”

“Right. Fast forward. I felt like shit for a long time, thinking who I was wasn’t good enough, but it was never about Iron Man, because if we were meant to be something other than what we are now, you’d have figured out a way to handle the fear around me being Iron Man and I would have figured out a way to help you, and to get you back. You left me, but I ran, too, because running is easier. I’ve run all my life, one way or another. I excel at running. But I don’t want to run anymore, you know?”

“You really _are_ in love,” she said, her awe indicative of how astonishing she found the concept.

The instincts he’d followed for years were telling him to shut this down, get busy, find a way to fill his brain with so much tech, he wouldn’t have room for any of this, but there was something stronger now, and it wouldn’t be ignored despite his terror. “I am literally shaking as I’m talking to you. The crazy thing is, I’m not terrified of alien armies or super villains—well, I am, but the scariest shit is every day. Life is risk. You can get out of bed and fall down the stairs. I wasn’t being Iron Man when I got kidnapped and almost died. The guy driving the truck on the bridge didn’t wake up knowing he was going to have a heart attack and cause a nearly deadly pile-up. Steve wasn’t battling aliens when the car took off the back of his head. Did you know his mom was an amazing woman, a real hero, but that didn’t stop the cold hand of death from reaching up and plucking that good woman away from a boy who needed her desperately? There were people who died in the Battle of New York because they were unlucky enough to have jobs in the wrong building on the wrong day. It can be a clear, sunny day, no clouds, when a kid gets pulled out of the middle of class and told his parents are dead.” Okay, there was a memory he’d worked hard to delete from his data banks, but the damn thing was too stubborn. “Every day, the thing that matters most can be ripped away like that.” He snapped his fingers, despite how much his hand was shaking. “Because there’s no foolproof way to ensure security. To minimize, maybe, but no guarantees.”

“And you hate that. Things you can’t fix. Things Tony Stark doesn’t control.”

“I despise those things,” he groaned, his face muscles tight enough to cause the words to hurt. He swiped away all the electronic displays and finished off by sending the rest of the items on the work table to the floor with crash.

“Tony,” Pepper said softly. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“What’s happened is I didn’t run, Pepper. I wasn’t even tempted. And I’m not going to. I have _no_ fucking clue how to handle any of this, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running. That’s the one clear thing I know, and I think I needed to just say it out loud, and you get to be the unlucky recipient. But I’m scared shitless, and I hate feeling like this. I don’t know what to do with any of it.”

“You’re going to figure it out.” He could tell she was crying. He wondered if she could tell he was, too. “I wish I could have been as brave as you are right now.”

Tony shook his head fiercely. “No. No. You got that wrong. You never really left me. The part you walked away from was the part that wasn’t meant to be. For either of us. But you never wrote _me_ off, and in the beginning I didn’t make that easy.”

“And as angry as you were at me, and as much hurt as I caused inside you, you didn’t write me off, either. That’s the only reason we’re talking now. More importantly, you didn’t write yourself off. You’re a lot better at not running than you’ve ever recognized. Maybe you’re finally starting to see it. You can do this, Tony. I know you can.”

“I just really needed you to know I get it, now.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Tony swiped the moisture threatening to escape his nose, disgusted with himself for sniveling. “I should go.”

“I can’t hang up when you sound like this. Please tell me Steve is nearby.”

“Yeah, oh, yeah. He’s . . . not far.” Tony looked around the empty cabin, suddenly feeling the walls closing in. What was he even doing here?

“Tony? Should I call Steve? Or Phil? Somebody?”

“He probably doesn’t have his phone,” Tony muttered, trying to visualize Steve on an island running freely with The Hulk and Thor. It was a pleasant image, if only he could believe it were true. But if it wasn’t true, they would have told him by now, right? “Besides, he’s a little jealous of you,” he muttered, distractedly. _Steve doesn’t have any reason to be jealous. Like I could ever be not obsessed with him ever again?_

“Jealous?” Pepper’s laugh was light and tender. “Captain America gets jealous? And of me? Somehow I don’t picture that.”

“Why not? He’s human, like everyone else. Just flesh and blood.”

_“Not Daddy’s fault I snap like a twig.”_

Tony could hear Steve’s pitiful, childlike whimper as clearly as he did that night. And then the images followed, as crisp and precise as if they were playing across his holographic screens:

 Steve curled beneath the credenza with Thor, his body Captain America size, but his countenance every inch the terrified five-year-old boy.

Steve in his arms, desperate fingers falling from Tony’s chest, too weak to hold on, his nose still leaking blood from abuse inflicted decades before Tony was even born, blue eyes wet with terror, grief, and helplessness as the life force slipped from his body.

 Steve hooked to Bruce’s machines, motionless as granite, vitals registering as almost non-existent, trapped in a hell Tony couldn’t breach.

“Tony, talk to me.”

“Can’t,” he whispered, because there was no use trying to run. He wasn’t going to run. He had to face this; it was part of him now. “Gotta go, Pep,” he managed to say as the biting tears fell from unbidden from his eyes. “Talk soon.”

After disconnecting the call, he slumped into a corner on the floor, curling his knees to his chest. He didn’t fight the shudders, doing his best to keep breathing even if choked gulps of air were the best he could do. He expected more tears, but they didn’t directly come. Yeah, his eyes burned as if acid had been squirted into them, but something else was fueling him; something beyond the grief and anguish; something way more powerful than the debility of helplessness.

It was rage.

An explosion of rage so violent, he gave a crazed thought to donning the suit and blasting everything in sight.

“JARVIS, lock down all access to the suits and Level 4 tech until I don’t sound unhinged,” he barked out frantically, feeling his fingers curl into stony fists, pounding into the wall behind him.

“A more specific set of parameters would be beneficial—”

“JARVIS!”

“Locked down, sir.”

His analytical mind engaged for a few seconds, wondering if this approximated the degree of rage Banner had to stave off to keep them safe that night at Steve’s bedside. _How does he do it_? _If he could do it, I gotta do it. Breathe. Breathe. Bre—_ “Oh fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck! Fuck you, you sonofafuckingbitch bastard!”

He was screaming then, trying to figure out what kind of pussy bastard terrorizes a helpless sick kid . . . breaks his fucking arm! Tries to smother him! “My dad was fucking father of the year compared to you, you dickless piece of shit!”

Tony kicked the chair, sending it crashing into the worktable. “There’s a special hell for pricks like you . . . yeah, right there alongside good ole Uncle Obi, right? Hope both of you are burning every fucking day of eternity!”

Tony didn’t remember getting to his feet, but suddenly anything he could get his hands on needed to break—hard. Expensive equipment, monitors, shelves, an entire mini-bar, bottles, glasses, and ice cube holders. He enjoyed the destruction, reveled in the shattering sounds, all the while railing at the depraved monsters who victimized kids and tried to pollute their innocent hearts. “Didn’t work though, did it, fuckface? Not with my Steve. He was too good. Too good for even the likes of you to tarnish. Not a weak little shit like me, right, Obi? All too easy to pervert me into a disgusting little reprobate puppet with all those things you did.”

Backhanding the slobber from his mouth and nose, he stalked to where the chair lay on its side, two wheels broken off, one spinning. “But none of you could break my Steve. So fuck you, Joseph Rogers, you cowardly piece of filth! Steve was more man at age five than you were your whole miserable life!” Tony lifted the chair over his head and flung it at the wall of the cabin, watching the pieces splinter on impact and rain down, still screaming. “And fuck all you bastards, including my father, who used him like a guinea pig, your wind-up soldier boy that you left at the bottom of that icy hell once he’d finished doing your bidding! And fuck whatever cosmic power decided his reward should be getting brain-fucked in that ice for eons for having committed the mortal sin of being a hero and saving the god-damned earth!”

Dropping to his knees, Tony let out a wail with every ounce of energy he could still muster. “It didn’t work! You couldn’t break my Steve. He’s still good and pure and honorable. Worth a million of you. A billion. And he loves me . . . ME!” Pounding on his chest with ridged fists, he cried out to the sky. “Tony Stark! Narcissistic, offensive, shallow, hedonistic, Tony Stark, the fucking brat you twisted with your perverted paws, Obi, and I let you and I never said a word and I pretended to forget, but Steve loves me! He LOVES me and finds me good enough, so screw all of you! We ain’t going anywhere! You don’t get to win! None of you! _We_ win! Who gets the last laugh now, huh?”

Tony did laugh. Flopping to his side on the floor, he curled into a ball and laughed hysterically.

Until he cried. 

~0~0~0~


	11. Chapter 11

“Timber!”

Steve heard Clint’s warning a second before the tree started to stagger. Hulk had swatted Thor full-on just as Mjolnir had conjured the hefty blast of lightning, the impact of the punch rocking Thor, changing the trajectory of his bolt straight towards the tree Steve was perched atop.

“Uh-oh,” he muttered, realizing there was no time to climb down. Holding on to the trunk didn’t feel like a good plan either as it was splitting in half, both sides toppling from the lightning jolt, so he jumped. He was bracing himself for the shield-less landing when he got snatched from the air by the seat of his pants courtesy of his Asgardian friend.

“Apologies,” Thor called, flying Steve toward the ground, then releasing him when they were close enough for Hulk’s big arm to swat at Thor. Steve landed in Hulk’s other hand, and was promptly placed upon the ground before The Hulk roared and set off after Thor again.

“Guys, I keep telling you, I am _not_ the ball,” Steve insisted as he ran for cover from the hail of purple paint arrows coming his way, one landing a direct hit on his ass as he leapt into the brush. “What happened to being teammates?”

Clint’s laugh filled his earpiece. “That was hours ago, Cap.”

“You’re going to eat purple paint, Hawkeye,” Natasha’s voice growled through the communicator, though Steve had no idea where she was.

“What are you complaining about?” he responded, getting up and running deeper into the jungle. Last he had seen her, she had one blotch of purple on her left sleeve. He, on the other hand, was covered with it, as was Thor, who wore a good deal of it in his hair, and Hulk, whose chest was now a pretty purple-green mix—well, pretty to an artist’s eyes. Hulk wasn’t thrilled with the look.

“I will join forces with you, Steven,” Thor suggested as he buzzed overhead, shots of lightning sparking Hulk’s ass as he thundered past Steve, causing the ground to shake enough for him to lose his balance and land on his own rump.

“You lightning bolted Cap out of a fucking tree,” Clint reminded.

“My intention was not to— _ooofff!”_ Whatever Thor meant to say was cut off when Hulk got hold of his cape and used it to swing him around like an Olympian in a hammer throw competition, which was ironic when you thought about it. When the cape tore, Thor was sent flying into the distance while Hulk took the remaining material in his fingers and pushed it into his mouth, swallowing with a grin. 

“Not sure partnering with you is my best option,” Steve pointed out. “You’re Hulk’s favorite target.” He had no sooner righted himself when a shadow moved from behind the bush a second before Natasha hurled herself right at him. He was back down on the ground, her legs around his neck. They had sparred several times back in the tower, and she usually fought dirty—using the fact that he wouldn’t to full advantage. Today, though, she had been a lot less ruthless, probably her idea of ‘play,’ which probably would have killed the average playmate.

He shook her off and got to his feet, the two of them taking each other to the ground for a few skirmishes before he was yanked off his feet by a big green hand.

“Pretty Blue Hulk’s partner now,” he crowed as he tossed Steve on his shoulder and preened triumphantly. As Steve was repositioning himself, he got hit with another paint rocket.

“Okay, Hulk. I’ll be your partner. Let’s follow the trail of purple paint.”

“Shit. No fair!”

“I want some of that action,” Natasha declared, taking a running leap and landing on Hulk’s thigh, climbing the rest of the way to his other shoulder.

“I say we go back to playing Hide and Hulk-Seek,” Clint suggested, a little out of breath since he had to be running fast.

“Hulk didn’t like that game,” Steve reminded, laughing. At first, The Hulk took some glee in hunting them down, but after a while, he got tired of being ‘it’ all the time, not finding the rationale that there was no place big enough for him to hide on this island as a good enough reason why he couldn’t. Hide and Seek had been followed by another Thor/Hulk smackdown after Hulk had celebrated locating Thor’s hiding place by flinging him three miles out into the ocean. A great deal of this one took place in the water, Steve feeling a little sorry for the fish as he took the opportunity to grab another snack near the shoreline. Temporarily fortified, he decided to separate Thor and Hulk for a while, engaging Thor in a ten mile foot race, which he won—kind of. Hulk had taken a bolder and rolled it bowling-ball style toward them, taking out Thor like a giant Asgardian pin in the homestretch, but Steve had had to dodge a dozen arrows, so he figured they were even.

“Okay, no more Hide and Seek.” Clint still had to be running because The Hulk took off at a gallop, sniffing for his scent. Steve fisted a handful of black hair to keep from being dislodged on the bumpy sprint, Natasha locking her iron thighs around a section of Hulk’s neck for purchase. “Is that Bruce’s favorite position, Nat?” Clint teased, so he still had to be in sight range—Hawkeye sight range, anyway, which meant more distance than most.

“Keep talking, Barton. It’ll only make it sweeter when we find you.”

“ _If_ you find me, you mean. If we were playing hot/cold, you wouldn’t even be warm right no—owwwww!”

Hulk slammed on the brakes, Natasha and Steve having to hold on with full strength not to get flung five miles into the distance. His head went up, sniffing, just as the firestorm of arrows came down.

“Ha, ha, I got air support now!”

Steve ducked around the paint shower enough to see the blur of a ragged red cape flying overhead, and the bow-wielding hawk riding on Thor’s back. As splatters of paint exploded atop Hulk’s head, Nat dove off, landing somewhere in the bushes, quickly taking cover. Steve didn’t move quickly enough, paint splashing off Hulk and on to him. He covered his eyes with his hands to shield them, hearing, not seeing, Thor and Clint whiz by closer, Mjolnir making a forceful impact into Hulk’s chest, causing him to huff. Unfortunately for the assault team, a huge expulsion of Hulk breath packs a wallop somewhere between whirlwind and tornado. As Hulk keeled over and began to topple, Steve climbed to his back and held tight, seeing Mjolnir fly one way, Thor and Clint the other. The whole scene looked a little like Dorothy’s house caught up in the twister and landing hard in Oz.

When the dust and sand settled—and the ground ceased shaking from the impact—Steve was face down atop the back of a face-down, flattened Hulk, Thor was on his back across from them, the remnants of his red cape tangled around Clint, who was on his back atop Thor’s body, his quiver twisted into Thor’s face. Steve had to blink the sand from his eyes before his vision cleared enough to see Natasha’s smug look of triumph as she stood tall, one foot on Hulk’s leg, arms folded, taking in their wreckage.

“I believe last Avenger standing wins, boys. Better luck next time.”

Before any of them could respond, Hulk let out a roar, followed by a ground-quaking rumble that exploded from his ass, which was a mere four feet from where’s Steve’s face had landed. The air was quickly polluted from the blast of the most noxious wind Steve had ever smelled, and he’d spent time in foxholes with unwashed soldiers.

“ _Blechhhh_ ,” Clint coughed, struggling to get off Thor. “What the fuck is that stench?”

“The foulness is reminiscent of a communal troll commode after an eve of gluttonous gorging.”

Steve’s eyes were watering, the stench caught in his throat despite his held breath. He rolled off Hulk’s back and got to the ground, trying to outrun the smell because the last thing he wanted to do—ever again—was barf.

“Come on, get up,” Natasha ordered, yanking Barton’s hand. “The longer you lay here, the more you’re going to smell like this and I have to ride home with you.”

Clint was hacking and spitting as he got to his feet. “Oh, shit, it’s like diesel mixed with rotten eggs and a dash of sewage. Bruce needs to develop some Hulk-strength _Pepto_ because this is some nasty ass stank.”

“Sorry,” Hulk grumbled, rolling onto his back. His entire body began to jigger, and liquid snorting sounds filled the air, signifying his laughter.

Steve was seated on the ground about five yards from them, debating the wisdom of washing his mouth out with sand when he heard Barton let out a curse filled with dread. Apparently, Nat helping him up was only a ploy to get close enough to his quiver. She’d gotten a side pouch open and seized the supply of paint he’d been dipping his trick arrows in, smashing it all over him.

Hulk found this to be quite amusing—which, unfortunately, led to several more bursts of rumbling, toxic gas.

“Oh, hell!” Natasha grumbled, covering her face with her hands and running towards Steve. Clint took the opportunity to load and cock his bow, sending an arrow straight over her head, which burst in an explosion just as she reached Steve. She ducked behind his body for cover, leaving him to take the brunt of the purple rain.

“Thanks a lot,” Steve complained.

In the meantime, Thor decided to fight fire with fire and approached The Hulk, who was still sprawled on the ground, and proceeded to launch his own gas attack towards the chuckling green face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint groused before hacking so hard he nearly keeled over. “Fart wars were _not_ on the activity list!” The level of stench wafting through the jungle was revolting, though Thor and Hulk didn’t seem to care.

Steve stood, staggering further into the trees. “That’s it. I’m done.”

“With ya, Cap,” Nat agreed between choking coughs.

“Hey, wait for me! Don’t leave me here with the fart brothers!” As Clint ran after them, his phone rang, and Steve could hear him talking between fits of strangling wheezes as they ran through the brush towards the shore. “Hey, boss . . . yeah, about . . . about wrapping up . . . I know, sunset, yeah. No, I’ll tell them. Yeah. See you soon.” Clint tucked away his phone and announced, “Phil says it’s time to shut this party down.”

“Yeah?” Nathsha growled. “You go back and tell _them_ , birdbrain.”

“Going nowhere near those ass-capades. You’re the Cap, Steve. You go.”

“Not happening. They can swim.”

Turns out, nobody had to swim. By the time they reached the beach and loaded up the boat, Thor emerged from the brush with a naked, purpled coated, still-stinking Bruce Banner over his shoulder, dead asleep.

“Hulk finally decide playtime was over?” Natasha asked.

“Indeed,” Thor proclaimed as he loaded their unconscious teammate aboard the boat. “He wishes to inform you all he had a most excellent time.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Clint groused as he lifted the anchor. “All of you just better sit the hell downwind because you all fucking stink!”

“You better hope this purple shit comes out of my hair,” Nat threatened.

“I most heartily concur,” Thor agreed, his fingers tangling in the matted mass of purple that used to be his golden mane as he lifted his arm and got a gander at his stained pit hair.

“I’m hungry,” Steve complained.

A moment later, they were all laughing—except for Bruce, who was snoring. 

~0~0~0~ 

Tony felt uncharacteristically sheepish as he slid into the backseat of the SUV waiting on the tarmac when he climbed down the stairs from his plane. Phil Coulson was already seated there, his sling arm resting against his chest on his left side, Tony now on his right. Walt was in the front seat, beside the driver, nobody saying a word. Despite being unable to climb the metal staircase, Tony had no doubt Agent was fully aware of the ransacked condition of his onboard lab—or what was left of it. At least he hadn’t destroyed the interface with JARVIS, a fact he became cognizant of when his AI roused him from the floor with a projected 3-D image of Coulson floating over his face that looked eerily similar to Princess Leia’s “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,” ghostly message. Except Coulson wasn’t wearing white robes. And he didn’t have any Death Star plans. Or big buns pinned to the side of his head. Just a stony expression and the concise directive, “Time to go, Stark,” before he disappeared back into the ether. In fact, Tony wasn’t sure at first if he’d really seen it. A quick glance out the plane window assured him Coulson was, indeed, here and waiting for him, not some crazy dream of the world’s most annoying snooze alarm.

“I’ve already contacted your ground staff. They’ll take care of righting the plane.”

Tony pressed his aching head back against the leather seat, sighing emptily. He didn’t have much left. “Appreciate the ride.”

“Pepper called me. You didn’t. So here I am.”

Agent would have no doubt been inside the plane personally scooping Tony’s sorry ass off the cabin floor if he had been capable, but being Phil, he found the next best way to drag Tony back to the world of the living. He wasn’t sure how trashed he looked, choosing to wash the snot and dried waterworks off his face without so much as a glance into the mirror. Looking down at his hands and arms, he was glad to find only a few bruises and cuts, having made a herculean effort to not do anything stupid—well, more stupid—like punch walls and break knuckles. “You should see the other guy,” he quipped.

“Productive day of work, then?”

Tony was able to grin. “Yeah. I think it was.”

“Good. The away team should be lifting anchor soon and heading for home. You’ll have enough time to shower and change, maybe even a short nap. I’ve got the staff setting up for a cook-out on the beach tonight. Thought you’d want to be at the dock when the boat gets back. And you know they’re all going to be hungry despite the food supply Thor packed, which could have fed a small village for a week.”

Tony nodded, his sore eyes falling closed. A few ice packs when they got to the villa would help. “Meticulously planned, Agent. Though I would expect nothing less.”

“Hold out your hand.” Tony did as he was instructed, pleased to find a cool ice pack laid across his palm.

“Get out of my head,” he complained as he laid the soothing ice across his face.

Tony could imagine how the conversation with Coulson and Pepper had gone, but he was grateful Phil didn’t drill him about the particulars of his afternoon. He’d danced on the dark side of the moon enough for one day. What he wanted most was to catch a power nap, hopefully reset. Of course, the contrary voice in his head wasn’t keen on the plan. Even as Tony felt himself starting to nod off, he heard a voice that fucking sounded like his ask, “How do you do it?”

“Define _it_.”

“Not get obsessed with Barton’s . . . history.”

“Where possible, I focus on things I _can_ do, not what I can’t. The time to help him there is long past. He needs me here. Present. Every day. Especially the rough ones. That I _can_ do.”

In the face of the dark labyrinths he’d been tangled in, Tony found Phil’s clarity comforting. “I doubt you’ll believe me, but I think I can do that, too.” He sure as hell wouldn’t leave Steve alone with any of it.

“I believe you.”

“Really? Huh? Cool.” Tony slumped further down the seat, ready to give in to sleep this time. But then Phil spoke again, a darker, acidic edge to his tone.

“Not easy, though . . . keeping your shit together when you’re face to face with the poorly healed scars from wounds you would have killed to keep from being inflicted.”

Tony let out a long, heavy breath, patting the clenched fist on the seat beside his thigh. “Amen.” Turning his head slightly, the side of Tony’s face found Phil’s shoulder. “Have I told you lately, I respect the hell out of you, Agent?”

“You’re babbling, Stark,” Phil pointed out, the more familiar Coulson drollery returning to his voice. “Get some sleep.”

“Way ahead of you.” Tony was most of the way there. “Don’t lemme drool on y’shirt.”

“Count on it.” 

~0~0~0~ 

“I see the boat!” Tony fidgeted like a little kid trying to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh. The sun had set an hour ago, but the moon was bright and the yacht was well lit. “Does Barton always drive so fucking slow?”

“Keep your pants on, Stark,” Phil cautioned from beside him. “They’ll be docked in a few minutes.”

It was unnerving, how anxious he was to see Steve. They hadn’t even been apart a full day. So why the hell did it feel like a month? He had never experienced this level of sappy mawkishness, and the fit was uncomfortable, like a new pair of briefs with too much sizing in them, grabbing at your junk, making it itch and burn. He’d given clear directions to his staff to not put new clothing in his bureau unless it had been properly laundered, though, occasionally, there were times when—

_What the fuck? Why the hell am I thinking about jockeys? Seriously?_

“Have you heard anything from Barton? Any reports?”

“You mean besides all the ones I already told you about? No.”

“So it’s possible Steve could be seasick or something, hurling his guts over the bow, and we wouldn’t know, right?”

“I don’t give that possibility much credence,” Phil stated patiently, in the same tone he’d been using with Tony since they got back to the villa. In the time it had taken for Tony to catch a few winks, shower, repair his face enough to look not insane, change clothes—and freak about every possible scenario that might have happened on the island that nobody told him about yet—Coulson had managed to organize the entire _Welcome Back_ shindig on the beach complete with tiki torches and gas-fed flaming urns for illumination beneath the night sky, a bonfire, a roasting pit, and a spread of food across numerous picnic tables that was enough to feed an incoming army—all the while talking Tony down from whatever ledge he climbed to next.

He’d be okay once he _saw_ Steve, right? Saw he was okay. Saw he was Steve. Yeah, he was going with that hypothesis. Logically, it made sense that he would have heard if there had been a problem with Steve’s health and well-being. The rest of the team were nearly as protective of Steve as Tony, so surely they wouldn’t have let even the smallest issue get past them. And Coulson. Coulson knew _everything_. Nothing horrible could have happened on that island and Coulson not know, even from miles away on another island in a wheelchair. He would have known.

_He knew enough to come after my sorry ass._

It was all good. Everything was going to be good. Good enough. No, really good. Steve was okay, right? For shit’s sake, could Barton pilot that boat any slower?

When bird boy finally got the boat close enough to begin anchoring, Tony and Phil headed out along the dock. The laughter and singing they had heard from the shore grew louder as they got closer, but something else consumed their attention as they approached the vessel.

“What the fuck is that smell?” Tony asked, nearly bowled over.

Phil was waving his hand over his face, tucking his nose into his sling. “No idea. Just glad I had the beach shower house prepped, because they are _not_ coming into the villa until that stench is defeated, even if it means they sleep on the sand tonight.”

In silent agreement, they both halted halfway down the dock, not chancing going any further towards a stench even the salty night air and light tropical breeze was doing little to dissipate. In fact, Tony took a few steps backward and Phil put his chair in reverse, quickly following suit. There, they waited—Tony wondering how much it was going to cost to get the rental yacht cleaned properly—until the passengers of the _S.S. Stinky_ began to disembark.

First off were Clint, Natasha, and Bruce—well, Clint and Natasha hauling a huge nautical blanket between them that contained a boneless, sleeping Bruce Banner in the makeshift hammock. It was difficult to see Banner at first, but Barton and Romanoff resembled rejected contestants from an episode of _Survivor_ gone wrong. They were battered and caked with sand, seaweed, and every type of flora indigenous to these islands. Barton was nearly as purple as Barney, Romanoff sported only a few traces of purple, and Banner was stained from his pits to his pubes. “Christ, his naked junk is purple now,” Tony muttered as they drew closer. “I have _got_ to make more progress on those Bulk Shorts.”

“The conquering heroes return,” Phil greeted at the smiling—and snore-drooling—Avengers.

“Hey, handsome,” Barton grinned, reaching his free hand out and making a move to lean in and kiss Phil. Coulson was quick on his controls, shifting the wheelchair back—or maybe it was just blown back by the power of the noxiousfumes emanating from them.

“Belay that greeting,” Phil warned, good hand coming up defensively, “until _after_ you’ve hit the showers.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Clint was laughing. “Hulk and Thor decided to commence chemical warfare out their blowholes—”

Phil was waving them away. “Spare me the gory details until I don’t need a gas mask to sit next to you. Beach shower house only. Nobody enters the villa until I say so. You’ll find clean clothes, enough soap to de-louse a battalion, and a big jug of paintball removing shampoo. Scrub Banner extra hard.”

“Paintball?” Tony took in Clint’s appearance again while holding his nose and squinting through watery eyes. “Did you shoot _yourself_ , Robin Hood?”

“Very funny. You can thank Nat for—”

“Keep moving,” Phil ordered.

“Copy that, boss.”

Natasha and Clint began bickering about who was holding up the heavier weight of the blanket, but their voices muted to background noise when Tony saw Steve and Thor climbing off the boat under armloads of supplies, laughing and joking heartily. Neither of them looked much better than the rest of the team from what Tony could see around the bundles they carried. There was a lot more purple and filth; half of Thor’s cape was torn off, and his hair looked like a nest for angry birds. Steve’s sweats were torn rags barely clinging to his long legs and the seat of his pants looked like the bull’s-eye point of purple arrow madness. He made a mental note to have a discussion with a certain archer about the off-limits status of Steve’s ass before breaking into a run down the dock, heedless of the wall of stench he crashed into. “Steve!”

Steve’s head peered around the heap of supplies, his purple-stained face immediately lighting up. “Tony!” The supplies were cast to the planksand Steve raced to meet Tony halfway, the two of them colliding hard enough to nearly send Tony into the drink, but Steve’s steady hands caught hold of his shoulders. Before thinking, Tony’s arms went around Steve’s neck and he held on tight, needing to feel the pounding of Steve’s pulse there as he pressed himself close.

“Tony, wait,” Steve was saying, words that didn’t register until the waves of something rivaling the odor of a block long porta-potty back-up assaultedhis sinusesand scrambled his brain before his stomach lurched threateningly.

“What the fuck!” he complained, untwining his hands from the back of Steve’s head where his fingers had gotten caught in something goopy and nasty. “Holyshit, please tell me this is tree sap and not Hulk snot-boogies.”

“I wish I could,” Steve replied, laughing yet chagrinned. “I don’t really know. Sorry. I’m a mess. I should have warned you quicker . . . I just . . . I was just so excited to see you.”

And then the brilliant blue of Steve’s eyes shined out at him, past the sweat and paint and sand and whatever else was caked on his face, and all Tony could do was grin like a goof. “Ditto.”

In breathless unison, they both asked, “Are you okay?” following with nervous laughter that made them sound like dopey school kids.

“I am, I really am,” Steve assured. “Nothing wrong a good shower and plenty of soap can’t cure, promise. I don’t even have any scratches under this mess.”

“Our large, green brother is quite enamored of our good captain,” Thor said in a jolly tone as he gathered up Steve’s forgotten load of supplies. “He would have surely crushed any who left so much as a bruise upon his fair flesh.”

“So would I,” Tony grumbled, trying to look past the filth and nearly visible wall of stench to assure himself Steve really was okay.

“Enough chit-chat,” Coulson called from his safe distance upwind. “Stark, you can have all the reunion time you want _after_ these two hit the showers and decontaminate. Go!”

Steve snapped to like the good soldier he was, but not before charming Tony to his toes with a lopsided grin as he brushed plum-streaked blonde strands away from his eyes. “You’ll wait for me, right?”

_Only forever. And a few centuries after that. But that’s my limit. Maybe._

“It’s a small island. Where am I going?”

“Come along, Steven.” Thor nudged him with the over-stacked load in his arms as he passed. “We shall make our ablutions expeditious so that we may partake in the evening festivities without engendering offense.”

“You’re already offending me, Thundar. Keep it moving. _Blechhhh_. Make sure you get up in those godly armpits, will’ya?”

“Stark, step over here, please.”

“What’d I do,” Tony whined as he watched Thor and Steve jog off the dock, enjoying the way Steve kept turning back over his shoulder to glance at Tony a few more times before they disappeared onto the beach. Tony was offended by the way Phil cautiously sniffed him when’d he’d finally skulked beside Rambo. “Hey!”

“Go change your clothes. You might even need another shower.”

“What? No way. I barely got to touch him,” he complained even as he wiped his slimy hands on the back of his pants. But then he tucked his chin to his neck and gave his shirt a sniff, face twisting in disgust. “Oh, fuck me.”

“I don’t think anybody is going to do that until you freshen up.” The twinkle in Phil’s eye was clear, even under the limited dock lighting. He clearly thought he was being witty. And he was.

“Fine,” Tony grudgingly agreed. “But don’t think for one minute I’m climbing into the community shower hole with the P.U. Team. I paid for that damned villa and I’ll shower in the lap of luxury and far from Banner’s purple junk if I please.” 

“Just make it snappy,” Phil instructed as he motored away. “I’m hungry and the meat is going on the fire in twenty minutes.”

“You’re not the boss of me, you know,” Tony said defiantly to Phil’s retreating back—right before he headed towards the front stairs of the villa to do exactly as Phil directed.

 

~0~0~0~


	12. Chapter 12

Dinner was a raucous affair. Everyone was revitalized after the shower, including Bruce, even if it was a more quiet state of animation than the rest of them. In general, he was wiped-out after a transformation, a particular level of mellow Tony often compared to that of a “stoner after a really great bag of weed,” but tonight there was also a spirited cheerfulness that wasn’t quite his norm. His appetite was wide awake for sure. He’d been keeping up with Thor and Steve in the eating department, which wasn’t easy considering Steve hadn’t fully managed to shake his post-sickness tapeworm yet. He tried not to choke on his food as Bruce recounted to Phil and Tony the story of his Doctor Banner awakening.

“So the last thing I clearly remember was jumping off the yacht and swimming towards the island, the Other Guy thumping impatiently in my head. My next conscious thought, I’m on the floor of the shower, spitting out water, amid a forest of ankles and asses.”

“Hey, at least we washed you first,” Clint defended.

“Because he was the ripest,” Thor pointed out merrily, simultaneously biting his chicken and tossing back the contents of his beer.

“Sure,” Bruce grinned. He was drinking a beer _and_ one of the tall, fruity cocktails Tony’s staff kept supplying them with. “Washed me, then dumped me over the drain while you all elbowed each other for room under the spray and fought over the soap.”

“They were just pissed because of how much effort it took to get the paint out of your chest hair,” Natasha explained.

“Who’s this _they_?” Clint practically flung his hot dog into the fire they were seated around as he gestured wildly, yet managed to keep his beer bottle balanced between his knees. “I drew short straw on that duty.”

“Seems fair considering you were the one shooting the paint arrows,” Phil reasoned.

“That man’s chest is like a shag carpet from the 70s. Would have helped if they had given me a rake.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Natasha said with a secretive smile.

“You’re Russian. Of course you like fur.” Clint ducked the corn cob that blew past his head. “Hey, how come The Hulk doesn’t have as much of a chest forest as you, Doc?”

“A five foot, eight inch, 175 pound white male transforms into an eight foot, thousand pound green side of a barn, and the disproportion in their degrees of chest hair is the part you find perplexing, Barton?” Tony shook his head.

“Well, actually, I’m more interested in how his junk—”

“Get me another burger.” Phil nudged Clint with his plate. Clint was perched on the edge of Phil’s reclining lounger, quickly taking the hint and getting up to head over to the food table to refill the plate. The staff had been restocking the table periodically, though for a while, Thor had taken over the duty of searing the meat over the pit, which was set up about thirty yards down from their bonfire. Right now, he was taking an eating break along with the rest of them, hunkered down in the sand on the other side of where Bruce was sitting wrapped in a blanket, only his hands peeking out from under to eat and drink.

“As I was saying,” Bruce continued, still chewing the forkful of steak he had just speared. “I’m on the floor of the shower, wet toes poking me in the eye, when this river of purple paint and grossness starts raining down. They apparently didn’t think through their plan of washing me first, because now I’m getting doused with the excess of filth washing off everyone else’s ass.”

“You harbor many complaints for one who shouldered none of the work,” Thor teased.

Steve took a breather from consuming his plate of ribs to point out, “In his defense, he was asleep.”

“Oh, this from the guy who was tucked up in the farthest corner of the shower room.” Upon his return to the group, Clint handed one plate of food to Phil and one to Steve, who was sitting on a blanket in the sand in front of Tony’s chair, his back leaning against Tony’s legs. “Here, I can almost see daylight on your plate. Figured you needed a refill.”

Steve squirmed and blushed—something he had done a lot during the team shower—but still readily took the offered food. Hitting the showers with a troop of soldiers was routine in the army. But in the army, there were no women in there. He never expected Natasha to enter the showers _with_ them. The whole thing threw him for a loop.

“Yeah, that was my fault,” Natasha admitted with a bawdy laugh, as if she was proud of the awkwardness her presence had caused him. She was reposed in a lounger beside Bruce, stretching out her bare legs and toes toward the fire as she sipped her drink. “Mister Old-Fashioned was doing his damnedest to avert his eyes politely and keep the little captain tucked under a wash cloth at all times.”

“Chivalry is wasted on this bunch,” Phil advised with a smile.

“Maybe you just didn’t have anything he was interested in seeing,” Tony retorted, patting Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, good thing Nat is the fastest shower-er born, because we needed Steve’s help to wash the Doc here—again, which didn’t happen until she left.”

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun getting a scrub-down from these three,” Bruce complained. “I’ve been in decontamination showers that were more pleasant.”

“You think it was easy to work with Thor’s other mighty hammer whacking me in the face every time I turned? And you were dead, slippery weight. Besides, we wouldn’t have all stunk so bad in the first place and been fighting for shower time if The Other Guy’s digestive tract wasn’t toxic.”

“You can’t blame all that on him,” Natasha argued. “The Asgardian was blowing some mighty thunder to go along with all that lightning.”

“Did you expect I would allow myself to be bested in this contest of internal fortitude?”

“More like fart-titude,” Clint wisecracked.

“Fart fights?” Tony mocked, shaking his head. “Really? I can see _The_ _Enquirer_ headline now: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes at Play . . . Grab the Glade.”

“It was quite the brown horn brass choir,” Clint laughed.

“Makes me all the more satisfied I stayed here,” Phil determined.

“How about we change the subject,” Steve suggested, still trying to forget the horrific stink. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Oh, yeah, newsflash there,” Clint chided.

“Steven merely makes up for time that has been lost. This robust appetite hails his return to fine form.”

Steve enjoyed the way Tony’s fingers found their way into his hair, petting softly as they continued to eat, drink, and be merry, but he worried as well. Tony was uncharacteristically the quietest member of the group this evening, but that probably made sense considering the different ways they had spent their day. Still, he expected more off-color jokes interjected into the yarns everyone was recounting with good cheer, and there were a few, just not the typical Tony Stark quota.

They hadn’t had any real opportunity to talk since his return, the dinner festivities commencing directly after the shower farce. Phil had gone to a lot of trouble directing the staff and planning the details of this evening, and it was all wonderful. Being on the beach at night, under the light of the moon and stars and array of torch lanterns, sitting around the fire—all of it was like nothing Steve had ever experienced. Everyone was drinking and laughing and eating and having such a great time, a complete and welcome turn-around from the way they had all spent the preceding evenings. The non-stop, vigorous activity today had gone a long way towards quieting Steve’s restless energy, and this evening of communion and fellowship was icing on that cake. As far as he could tell, he was healthy and well, and for sure he was happy, which was all just kind of swell when you thought about it.

He really wanted Tony to feel a similar contentment, but he had no plans to push him while he was still clearly tender. He was gratified that Tony maintained a constant degree of contact, however light: Brushes of the arm, the press of his leg into Steve’s back, the way his fingers kept finding Steve’s hair. He craved every one of those touches. Truth be told, he craved much more, but he refused to dwell on those thoughts. He was content to be back in the same place as the man he loved, and whatever pace Tony needed things to move at was okay by him.

Steve had no idea Natasha had recorded some of their tomfoolery today on her phone, surprised when she pulled it out to show Tony and Phil, as well as Bruce who never got the opportunity to watch The Hulk at play. What film there was of Hulk was usually news clips of rampage and destruction that Bruce avoided viewing as much as possible. He looked delighted to watch Natasha’s footage though, which Steve realized must have been her reason for filming it in the first place.

Bruce laughed really hard at the antics between Hulk and Thor, especially the part where their overzealous wrestling landed them both in the drink, Thor coming up with so much seaweed in his hair it was nearly as green as Hulk. And, of course, the part where Hulk was swinging Thor by his cape.

“Well, now we know what happened to your cape,” Phil pointed out.

“How are you still talking to me?” Bruce asked, grinning at Thor beside him.

“Nonsense. Grappling with The Hulk harkens me back to my hearty skirmishes with the Warriors Three. Invigorating!”

“I’ve actually seen those guys,” Phil agreed, nodding. “He’s right. All three together, pound for pound—factor in Asgardian weight differentials—that would be comparable to one Earth-weight Hulk. If you included Sif, The Hulk might actually feel like a walk in the park to what Thor is accustomed to training with.”

“Indeed,” Thor agreed heartily. “So, my friend, there are no feelings of hardness.” Thor slapped Bruce’s back solidly, Bruce nearly toppling face first into the sand.

“Hard feelings, Thor. And go easy on him. He’s a lot more fragile in his Bruce Banner skin.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Son of Coul. Apologies, my friend.” Thor helped to right Bruce before they clinked their beer bottles together and drained the contents, laughing.

“I think eating that cape is what gave him the farts,” Clint decided.

That one got a good laugh out of Tony. “You know, kind of makes sense when you think about it. Anything Asgardian seems to have a disagreeable effect on the stomach.”

“No, wait, this part is my favorite,” Natasha announced, turning her phone screen for the rest to see. “Hulk playing marbles with his BFF.”

“Where did you get that!” Steve shook his head. “You weren’t even there. None of you were.”

“I’m everywhere,” Nat stated with a shrug.

“I think it’s cute how they made those marbles out of rocks,” Clint observed. “And look at Hulk, down on his big green belly next to _Prettttty Blue_.”

“Hey, I had to come up with something. I was trying to eat and he wanted to keep playing.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to get in the way of Cap’s eating time.”

“Was he any good at it?” Bruce asked, fascinated.

“He’s got big fingers and there was sand . . . kind of hard to knuckle down. But he liked it.”

“Yeah. He seems to be having a great time . . . watching _you_ , Pretty Blue.” Natasha cracked.

“You jealous, Bossy Pants?” Clint teased.

“ _Bossy Pants_?” Tony nearly choked on the slug of water from his bottle. “That’s a new one . . . though, appropriate.”

“He didn’t really call her—?” Bruce asked, shocked and clearly embarrassed, palming his face to hide. “Oh, shit.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Natasha said crisply, though she didn’t look mad; at least not a true Natasha level of mad. Tony, Thor, and Clint were laughing hard now, and Bruce looked as if he wanted to dig a hole in the sand and bury himself. Steve took pity on the guy, diverting the ribbing back in his direction.

“Hey, I gotta admit there are benefits to being The Hulk’s—what did you call it? BF? FF?”

“BF ** _F_** _,_ Pretty Blue _.”_ Natasha was laughing now. “Get your alphabet straight.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’d rather be his Pretty Blue than his favorite punching bag, right, Long Hair who talks stupid?”

Thor fell into another fit of laughter, a humor no doubt heightened by the number of beers he had been consuming. It reminded Steve of the night Thor broke his coffee table.

“Unless you’re facing an enemy, Steve, you have a quiet, calm energy.” Bruce looked eager to be discussing anything other than Natasha’s private nickname that Hulk had made public. “The Other Guy would feel safe around that. I think it’s why he can tolerate taking orders from Captain America. He’s also been restive these past few days, no doubt tasting my worry about Steve. He was probably relieved to see you were okay.”

“You got that right.” Natasha produced another video, this one of Hulk and Steve when they first got to the island. Bruce looked touched viewing it, so Steve decided not to be embarrassed. Still, he was glad when movie time was over, cut short by Thor retelling one of the battle stories, reenacting so vigorously, he nearly fell into the fire. As everyone was laughing and watching the gregarious Asgardian, Steve got up quietly and headed back over to the food table for another refill. He liked that Tony wasn’t far behind, pressing up against his back and planting a soft kiss on his neck as he piled food on his plate.

“So, I have competition, huh?”

“What?”

“Mean Green has the hots for you.”

“To- _nee_. It’s not like that.” Steve set his plate down and turned, finding Tony was grinning at him, trying to be playful. Steve grinned as well. “In a lot of ways, The Hulk is very childlike, especially today. He had such a great time. Thank you for suggesting it. We need to do that kind of thing more often. Helps everyone recharge. But you have to come next time.”

“Only if there’s no farting. I’ve smelled enough of Thundar’s ass blasts to last a lifetime and I don’t want to be anywhere near Hulk’s steaming weasel. ” Only Tony could follow a statement like that with something heartfelt, his voice softening as he looked closely at Steve. “It’s because you’re nice to him, you know. Why Hulk likes you best. You’ve never treated him or Bruce like a monster or a freak.”

“Why would I?”

“That is a very Steve Rogers thing to say.”

“Hope that’s a good thing. And for the record, you could never have competition for me. There’s no contest.”

“I like the sound of that.” Tony tucked his chin to his chest and pressed his forehead into Steve’s chest. He used both hands to comb through Tony’s thick hair, massaging gently.

“This can’t be much fun for you.”

“ _Au contraire, mon amour_. I’m having a great time. Really.”

Steve was thrown for a minute by how sexy Tony sounded speaking French. He knew Tony spoke several languages, but he hadn’t really had a chance to find out how many yet. There were probably quite a few.Tony was so smart and went to fancy schools. Steve was already in big trouble considering the way Tony’s sexy talk could rattle him. He wasn’t sure he could handle it coming at him in exotic languages. Shaking himself, Steve brought his attention back to the matter at hand. “Are you okay? You haven’t talked about how _your_ day went.”

“Let’s just say not as fun as yours and leave it at that for now.”

Steve slid his hand under Tony’s chin, tipping his head back to look at him. “I don’t want to leave it. Talk to me.”

“I will. Promise. But not tonight. Everything right now feels nice, you know? I want to keep that for a while.”

“You sure?”

Tony smiled and nodded. His body didn’t feel tense. His eyes looked a little tired and Steve could tell he had cried today, but he didn’t seem as wound up as he was this morning. Maybe the working thing had helped. Desperate to give Tony all the understanding and room he needed, Steve accepted his request for a respite from the hard conversations for now. “Okay, but if you change your mind—”

“I know where to find you because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Go ahead. Finish loading up your plate. I’m going to finish listening to Thundar’s story. He actually is a decent storyteller, but don’t tell him I said so.”

“My lips are sealed.” 

~0~0~0~ 

 

“You need to drink this,” Clint slurred as he stuffed a glass in Tony’s hand and began to pour from the bottle he was carrying. “It’s called Mount _Gay_ rum. Kinda funny, right?”

Tony sniffed the glass then set it down next to him on the table he was sitting upon, the one near the food and beverage spread. He had been enjoying watching Agent by the fire trying to teach Steve and Thor how to make s’mores, though Thor kept impatiently eating most of the ingredients before they could get the sandwiches complete, and Steve had set fire to his marshmallows until they were black lumps of ash crumbling off his stick. “M’sure you’re finding everything funny about now, Barton.”

Clint laughed. “That’s funny.”

“Mount Gay is from Barbados. You’re on Provo. You need to try the Bambarra.”

“Oh, believe me, I have.” Clint pulled a beer bottle from his pocket. “And this stuff. This is from here, too, right?”

“Turks Head beer. Yup. Only beer brewed on the island.”

“I’m trying to hide the cooler of these babies from Thor. He’s been drinking them like a fish. That guy is plastered.”

“Is that right?” Tony grinned as Clint swayed beside him.

“So’s Banner.” Clint pointed toward Bruce, who had eschewed his clothing and donned Natasha’s wrap as a sarong—giving everyone yet another unwanted peek at his junk during the quick change, and causing Tony to wonder if he was a closet exhibitionist. Bruce was attempting to demonstrate for Natasha some native dance he picked up on one of his bush-land excursions, but he was having trouble even standing straight without toppling in the sand, let alone keeping his sarong securely fastened.

“You’re two for two, Hawkeye.”

“I’ll make it three. You’re _not_ drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Not for lack of desire. The allure of the fragrant glass of rum beside him was tempting, but he knew the temptation wasn’t about flavor or celebration.

“Maybe you should be,” Clint declared, hopping up to sit on the table beside Tony, handing him the bottle of beer while he took a slug from the rum.

Tony took the beer and set it beside the untouched rum. “Not a good idea.”

“Maybe it is. Not sure you’ve noticed, but you’ve been a little . . . uptight lately.”

“You don’t say?” 

“I’m tired of uptight. We’re on vacation. We’re over the hurdle. Gotten through the bullshit. We’re a regular bunch of comeback kids, especially your boyfriend, there. Can’t keep any of us down for long. Come on, Tony. Time to have some fun.”

“Problem is, if I drink this shit, I won’t be fun. I’ll be an ass. Drinking while fucked up hasn’t proven to be a great combo for me in the past.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Clint laughed, taking another slug. “Steve sucks at roasting marshmallows.”

Tony had to laugh as they watched Steve drop his whole stick in the fire, losing all his marshmallows. “I figure they didn’t have a lot of campfires in Brooklyn during the depression.”

“Good point. Ahhh, the guy excels at plenty of stuff. Kinda funny when he fucks something up.”

Tony found it adorable, though he kept the thought to himself, muttering “Oh, no,” when Bruce stumbled over to yank Steve and Thor into his drunk interpretive dance.

“Hey, Nat, you better get your phone video going. This ought to be good.” 

Natasha didn’t have a chance to record anything, as Thor pulled her into the crazy circle. Bruce was in no shape to teach anything, so his instructions left a bit to be desired. Thor decided to pick up the slack, adding some wild Asgardian booty twists, his rump crashing into Steve, who toppled and took Bruce and Natasha down with him.

“Okay, he sucks at dancing, too.”

“Not always.” Tony had a warm thought about their night at the Douglaston Manor before defending, “Besides, that was Bruce’s fault. What kind of instruction was that?”

“Sloshed instruction with a heavy case of post-Hulk wastedness thrown in.” Clint laughed before calling out, “That is _not_ dancing. You guys look like a cross between ring-around-the-rosy and a roller derby. And for Christ sake, tie a tighter knot in that damn sarong, will’ya?”

“Like you could do better with these three, Barton,” Natasha groused as Steve helped her up and Thor snatched Bruce’s floral wrap, playing keep away with the now naked-yet-again Banner.

“I could, but I’m busy over here talking to my good buddy, Tony.” He threw his arm over Tony’s shoulder. Tony picked up the beer beside him and handed it back to Clint.

“Here. Have a beer.”

“Don’t mind if I do. Hold my gay rum.” They traded, Tony setting the bottle down while Clint opened the beer. Bruce became fascinated by the s’mores, practically sitting his naked ass on Phil’s lap so he could toast some marshmallows while Thor took over the dance lessons. “Don’t break my husband, Banner.”

“I’m light,” Banner protested even as Coulson pushed him off with his good arm and Bruce landed in the sand, crushing a pack of graham crackers. Thor picked him up off the sand and threw him over his shoulders, spinning him as they danced.

“I thought busting your ass dancing with Thundar was your gig?”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Maybe.”

“Hulk kicked his butt pretty good today,” Clint shared around a big swig. “Maybe this is a little payback.”

“Yeah, well, he better watch out. Banner has a nasty girlfriend.”

“This is true. She could kill ya with your own pinkie.” Barton found this thought hysterically funny, nearly falling off the table in his laughing fit. Tony slid out from under his arm before he got taken down as well.

“How many of those Turks Heads have you had again?”

“Quite a few.” Clint straightened, the laughing fit quickly fleeting. “Never enough, though, are there?”

“What?”

“To keep the nightmares away. There isn’t enough beer in the world to drown those.”

Tony stiffened and his defenses jumped to the forefront. “Don’t go getting all sober on me, Barton.”

“Who says I’m sober?” Clint took another slug of beer, then turned to Tony, eyes piercing. “Who says I’m not?”

“If you’re thinking about going shrink on me, your husband’s already beat you to the punch, so save it.”

“Maybe I’m not talking about you. Want to know how I spent last night?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I spent last night curled in a fetal position shaking, pressed into Phil who used his one good arm to pat me and keep reminding me I was _here_ , not kneeling in manure in a circus tent, tucked behind the elephants, trying to avoid the next beatdown.” He held up the beer and considered it. “This couldn’t have helped that.” He took a long swallow, then nodded towards Phil, who was poking Thor with the roasting stick to keep the godly wonder from trying to include him in their bizarre dance. “He did, though.” Clint put the bottle down beside him and looked hard at Tony again, the ghost of his trauma still writ clear on his features. “You’re a smart guy, so I get why you’re not drinking. What I don’t get is why you’re sitting here.” 

“What is it you think I should be doing?” Tony snapped, pissed because he wanted to be pissed at Clint but wasn’t. “I’m not freaking out. I’m not stopping Steve from eating. I’m laughing and smiling along with the rest of you as I listen to all the dangerous shit he was doing today that I can barely stand to think about because if something were to happen to him—”  Tony halted, reaching for the glass of rum beside him. Before he could down it, Clint snatched it from his hand.

“No, you don’t need that. All I want you to do is look at Steve.”

“That’s all I’ve _been_ doing from the minute he stepped off that boat stinking like Hulk’s ass, drenched in paint and beach sludge.”

“Really? You’re looking at him? Really looking? What does he look like now?”

Tony folded his arms protectively over his chest. “He looks like he’s dancing with Thor and Bruce while Natasha throws marshmallows at them, okay. I can see. Is the exam over?”

“Nope. Not ‘til you pass. What else do you see?”

“A fire. Drunk people. A badly retied floral sarong that exposes too much of Banner’s hairy ass. Agent eating a s’more. Sand. A beach. Tiki torches. Do you have any ink blots you want me to look at?”

“You’re a stubborn ass, Stark. What do you _see_? Wipe the filmy goop out of your eyes. Look at Steve and tell me what you see. Not with sentry eyes. Not with protective eyes. Use your boyfriend eyes. Use your hot-blooded-male-who-owns-that-piece-of-gorgeous-ass eyes.”

Tony shoved Clint with his shoulder and hopped down off the table, having enough of this dime-store psychology. Why the hell wouldn’t they all leave him alone? He felt shitty enough for how fucked up he was. When did rubbing it in become the sport of choice on this fucking island? “Go back to your gay rum, Barton.”

Without even standing, Clint corralled Tony by the neckline of his tee shirt and yanked him back against his dangling legs, which quickly wrapped around Tony’s waist “Don’t be a chicken-shit, Stark. What do you see? I’ve been listening to you whine about your blue balls since we got to this island. You going to tell me now you don’t see what Steve is wearing?”

“My fucking balls quit the team a few days ago, along with my hot-blooded eyes. Didn’t you get the memo?” Tony pulled to get loose, but Clint wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him against his chest. “Knock it off, Barton.”

“Keep smiling, they’ll think we’re horsing around.” Clint waved goofily towards the beach dancers who were bouncing around like uncoordinated, over-muscled Rockettes, then pressed his knuckles into Tony’s hair, giving him noogies.

“I’m not horsing around with you,” Tony insisted, elbowing Clint hard in the ribs. To his credit, he took the shot with only a minor grunt.

“Sure you are. Because if we’re not horsing around, Steve is going to worry about you. And you don’t want to upset Steve. ‘Cause Steve is fragile, right? He could break at any second.”

“He could fucking break you.”

“Really? You sure about that? I thought he was made of glass?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with _you_ , Stark. What is Steve wearing? Simple fucking question. Doesn’t look like his regular gear. I’ve shopped with the guy. He didn’t pick that outfit. You buy that for him? Those aren’t the clothes Phil left in the changing room. Steve went upstairs special after the showers. Did you know that? I wonder why he did that? What do you think, smartypants? You surely have enough money to buy a fucking clue.”

“Get off me.” Tony jerked back hard and twisted, nearly flipping Clint off the table and over his head as he got free. His blood was throbbing in his veins, he was so angry, but before he could storm away, Clint’s words echoed in his brain like a dare he couldn’t back down from.

 _What_ is _Steve wearing?_

It was jarring to realize he didn’t know.

And then he was _looking_ . . . looking at the white muscle-shirt, the front clinging to Steve’s chest, the split, low-cut sides exposing half the flesh of his upper body: arms, flanks, torso. Tony had suspected the shirt would look amazing on Steve when he bought it, but the reality was stunning. The shirt brushed the waistband of the low-slung blue cargo shorts, Steve’s hips holding them up perfectly, the fit snug enough to see there was only Steve beneath them. His legs and feet were bare, his hair tousled from scuffling with his drunken dance partners, melted chocolate stains marring the front of the pristine white tank from a s’mores attempt gone wrong. He managed to look like a goofy kid and steamy cover-boy simultaneously. Moonlight twinkled against the dewy teardrops that had formed on his extra-long eyelashes from laughing so hard, the firelight highlighting the rosy flush of his healthy cheeks. He looked robust, full of life, happy—alive.

Sexy as hell.

Tony blinked several times, feeling himself gape, but unable to stop. It was like having the ice scraped off your windshield on a February morning to reveal a sunny July day on the other side. He felt like he did when he pulled off his goggles after a three-day work bender and was reminded what color the rest of the world was.

Steve missed catching the bag of _Hershey_ bars tossed his way, bending to retrieve them while ducking under Thor’s high-legged dance kicks. The shorts hugged every curve of his flawless ass, material straining against the solid muscle. Tony’s dick decided to clock back in big-time, the unexpected rush of blood and sensation sending him staggering back into Clint’s legs. “Whoa.”

“Finally,” Clint snickered, cupping his hands over Tony’s shoulders and massaging like a cornerman boosting his staggering boxer. “Hot shit, huh?” Tony’s flesh was suddenly hypersensitive, Clint’s touch burning through his shirt, scorching him, Tony flinching at the contact. “Easy, Tiger. Off-season over? Everyone back on the team?”

Tony tried responding, but the sound that came from his throat didn’t exactly pass for words. Words? There were no words. Only sensation. A shit-ton of sensation pummeling like repulsor blasts. His brain was no longer producing useful data. He was suddenly a junkyard dog who’d caught the scent of a bitch in heat, driven solely by overstimulated arousal and a biological imperative to mount. Barton wasn’t helping.

“What the hell are you still doing standing here? Are you waiting for the small bead of cream in your banana hammock to become a full-fledged wet stain before you even get in the same zip code as Steve?”

 _Steve_.

He needed Steve.

Barton shoved him forward, but it took three steps to master his coordination. His prick led the way after that, a throbbing divining rod mapping a straight path to gold. He had only tunnel vision now, barely noticing the bodies Steve was sandwiched between, laughing and carrying on. Didn’t matter. Steve mattered. His Steve. Healthy and breathing and so fucking gorgeous his eyes were watering—mouth, too. “Steve!”

Okay, his voice may have sounded like he’d swallowed sand. Whatever. Still got Steve’s attention.

“Hey, Tony.” Steve’s grin was boyish, and stinking happy, as if Tony was Santa with an armload of presents. But then Thor’s elbow clocked the side of his head and he staggered, laughing. “Hey!”

“Anthony has arrived to join our merriment!” Thor announced, reaching a burly arm out to usher Tony towards the shitfaced circle of drunks.

Tony ducked and stepped out of reach. “Yeah, no. Steve, come on. Now.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve’s face sobered, worry flooding the fire-lit blue eyes, and Tony couldn’t stand it; couldn’t stand to see even a hint of unrest return to that face. Not again. Not anymore. Words. Words. Where the fuck were his words? He needed to reassure, to explain, get Steve to understand.

Ah, hell. He didn’t have any damn words. What he did have was need. Steve was going to have to figure it out. Tony fisted Steve’s tank right between the chocolate stains and yanked, tugging him until they were close enough for their lips to make contact.

And then he kissed him.

Not the tender kisses of assurance and devotion he had been bestowing since the nightmare began. No, this one was pure lust. This kiss had one purpose, one message: _Steve, I need you. NOW_. For good measure, Tony thrust his groin towards the lax hand that hung at Steve’s side, making certain there was no mistaking his intent.

Steve was no dummy. He may have been caught unaware, but his reaction time was swift. Tony’s message was decoded in seconds, met with an enthusiastic return dispatch. Long fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head closer still, keeping him firmly on point as Steve bit into his mouth with more gusto than he’d shown any of a dozen sandwiches tonight. Turns out his unquenchable appetite wasn’t only for food.

Tony lost awareness of his surroundings, of breathing, of anything that wasn’t the taste of Steve he’d been starved for. Only when Steve released him, despite his attempts to hold on, did he even faintly hear the whistles, off-color commentary, and cheers. He noticed Steve’s cheeks were hotter than the fire as he released the hold on Tony’s crotch, and took his hand instead.

“Um, yeah, hate to break up the party, but we . . . we gotta go, um, now. Like now,” Steve stammered, abashed, yanking Tony with him, making a break forthe path that lead up to the pool terrace. “Sorry guys . . . gotta go, um, go and . . . gotta go. Goodnight, everybody.”

Tony followed eagerly, keeping up with the long strides, not interested in apologies or goodbyes. The sooner he got Steve away from an audience, the better Tony’s chance of getting what he needed, which was Steve all to himself—forever, if possible. Twinkle lights lined the sides of the hibiscus-flanked walkway, which was otherwise cast in shadow from the overhang of trees and distance from the beach torches. When they had made it halfway up the path, concealed now from the view of prying eyes, Tony stopped moving despite Steve’s insistent tug on his hand.

 “Come on, Tony,” Steve practically whined.

Tony threw himself at Steve, breaking against him like a wave on the shore, one hand getting hold of Steve’s shoulder, the other tangling in his hair, hanging on as best he could while he covered the complaining mouth with his ownand sucked any further objections from Steve’s throat. There was no way he was going to make it up the rest of the long path without tasting Steve’s mouth again, but moving forward became more problematic. There was nothing graceful about the remainder of their ascent, just lots of kissing, fumbling, tripping, and a few falls into the dirt and bushes. Tony was fine in the bush as long as he could still reach Steve’s mouth and squeeze his ass, but Steve hauled him out and they made it to the pool deck, falling over again in their breathless groping, landing horizontally upon a vertical lounge chair, which wasn’t all that comfortable, especially since Tony was on the bottom. Steve’s knees must have hit the concrete, because he was kneeling over Tony, whose own legs were sprawled wide, one bare foot scraping a paver. Steve began making a meal out of his neck, but Tony flattened his palms on Steve’s cheeks and pushed him back enough to get hold of the delicious mouth again. He could feel the desperation in his own kisses, vaguely aware they could be construed as painful, but Steve was tough. He could take it.

Or could he?

_I didn’t even ask . . . don’t even know . . . ._

Forcing himself to pull back despite every raging impulse driving him forward, Tony gripped Steve by the hair and separated their faces enough to get a good look at him. “I didn’t . . . are you . . . you up for this?”

“You kidding?” Steve thrust his hips forward, practically knocking Tony off the other end of the lounger as he squished his straining bulge into Tony’s crotch. The feel of it sent another surge of heat through Tony’s thighs, short-circuiting his brainwaves. He almost creamed his fucking pants, sliding his hands down Steve’s back, cupping his ass as he strained for more. Steve’s arm went under Tony’s knee, lifting his leg, making more room to hump. Tony could feel the fire burning off Steve’s body and saw an expression that was the visual mirror of how he felt. But a second later, Steve’s brows knitted, the worry line marring his beautiful features as he pulled back.

“Wait,” he whispered, sounding a little ashamed. “Did you mean _you_ need to slow down? Because if you need—”

 _Oh, hell no_. He was in no condition to handle any hand-ringing debate. “What I _need_ is for you to shut the fuck up.”

Steve looked stunned for a second, but then he grinned in a way that almost looked devilish. Nah, that couldn’t be right. And why the hell was he pulling back now? Tony cursed inwardly. Why did he have to be an oaf? _Real smooth, Stark. Way to not get laid._

Steve got to his feet effortlessly, leaning over the lounger, reaching a hand toward Tony as he practically purred, “You want me to shut up? Then shut me up.”

_Jackpot!_

Okay, what was hotter? Steve throwing Tony’s own words back at him, invoking their first electrifying kiss against the door in Steve’s apartment? The limitless promise of such an alluring come-on? Or how cock-busting sexy Steve looked right this second?

Tony chose D—all of the above.

He accepted the outstretched hand, allowing Steve to haul him to his feet before dipping three fingers into the waistband of those already too-tight shorts and pulling Steve forward for a kiss that shut them both up for several delicious minutes. When Tony finally came up for a needed breath, he yanked on the shorts he was still in possession of and growled, “Unless you’re willing to drop trou right here on this terrace you better start hauling that pretty ass upstairs, because these are coming off.”

Steve looked _almost_ hungry enough to let that happen, but finally choose to start moving—backwards—into the villa, keeping hold of Tony’s forearms to bring him along while they both kissed sloppily, missing half the time, laughing in between. Steve’s ass managed to knock over a lamp, two vases, and a potted plant on their clumsy stumble toward the staircase, at one point even falling backwards over an ottoman, though he bounced back up quickly. Tony wasn’t maneuvering the course with much more agility, slipping in the dirt from the overturned plant, poking Steve in the eye twice with his nose, and catching a chunk of pubes in his zipper as he tried to slickly unfasten his own jeans in the interest of saving valuable time later.

“Owww, shit.”

“You okay?”

“Keep walking.”

“I am, I just— _whooaa_.” His back to the stairs, Steve didn’t realize how close he was to them, his heel bumping the bottom step and the rest of him landing on his rump, stretched out over the first four stairs. Tony took no pity, blanketing him, nosing his way inside the generous side slit of Steve’s shirt, nuzzling the scant armpit hair before roaming across ribcage until he located a nipple. “Tony!”

“Right here,” Tony panted, before taking the pointy nub between his teeth and pressing his hand over Steve’s mound to feel the reaction travel. Steve arched wildly, nearly tossing Tony off and down the stairs, but he held on to the broad shoulders and continued to feast. He pressed Steve’s thigh between his knees, balancing on the step while grinding into his guy, his cock bitching about the fact that his briefs and jeans were still in the fucking way of what it needed.

“Tony,” Steve gasped between strained breaths, “we’re still not . . . not up . . . .”

_Shit. Why doesn’t this place have an elevator? Fucking stairs._

“All right, all right,” he conceded, grudgingly climbing off to let Steve up. “You think you can move your slow ass a little faster?” he challenged as he shot past Steve, taking the stairs two at a clip. He only got midway when Steve caught up.

“It was a pretty ass a few minutes ago—and you call this fast?” Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him the rest of the way up. But they were kissing again on the landing, taking turns flattening each other into the wall and humping, until they finally fell through the door.

Only it was the wrong door.

Peeking out from around Steve’s busy mouth, Tony quickly noted the surroundings—dark visions of Elmos dancing through his head. He refused to lose his wood recalling that bad scene, squirming out from under Steve’s barrage of kisses. “Hang on  . . . hold up. This isn’t our suite.”

“Who cares?” Steve was wrestling with Tony’s tee-shirt while sticking the other hand down the front of his pants, fingers making contact with Tony’s cock, which was ready to sing the _Star-Spangled Banner_ right there, but he put the chorus on hold, patting the side of Steve’s cheek to get his attention.

“Hey, hey, hold up. I am _not_ fucking in Thundar’s room. No way.”

“Huh?” Steve was so gone he looked absolutely stupid. “What?” Tony took hold of his chin and turned it to get a good look into the room, the light bulb finally flicking on. “Oh. Ohhhh.”

“Come on.” Tony took Steve’s hand out of his pants—pissing off his cock—and led the way out and down the hall until they got to their own door.

As Tony was turning the knob, Steve pressed up behind him, asking sheepishly, “Are we going to fuck?”

Tony flung the door open then whipped around, not trusting his ears, which were whooshing from the influx of blood racing to feed his already throbbing dick, making his head spin. “Did you just say ‘ _fuck_ ’?”

Steve’s eyes drew down and his cheeks grew warm. “Well, you said in Thor’s room—”

Tony took both hands and led Steve inside, slamming the door behind them. “No, no, did _you_ just say fuck?” Tony stalked forward, backing Steve against the door.

 Brushing at his hair self-consciously, Steve grinned. “Maybe.”

“Say it again,” Tony dared, unlooping the drawstring on Steve’s shorts, careful to make sure his fingertips brushed over Steve’s twittery navel.

“Tony.”

“Say it.” He dropped to his knees, taking Steve’s shorts with him, letting them pool around his ankles while Tony bent to kiss his way up the sturdy calves, brushing off the clinging grains of sand. As he had suspected, Steve wasn’t wearing anything beneath those shorts. “ _Au naturel,_ ” Tony hummed admiring the thick, leaking shaft dangling just over his head. “Were you trying to seduce me in this outfit?”

Steve’s eyes were riveted to his every move, the fingers of his right hand falling into Tony’s hair while his left hand curled into a fist, which looked to be trying to keep the rest of himself under control. “I . . . I didn’t . . . I just wanted to wear something you would like. Wasn’t trying to push you, just wanted to make you happy. Been so long since I’ve made you happy.”

“Aww, baby.” It hurt knowing Steve really believed that. He reached for the fist, rubbing it against his cheek before kissing each knuckle softly. “I can’t stand seeing you hurting. Makes me crazy. But unhappy? Never. Not with you in my life.” Steve’s head fell back against the door, and he looked a little overwhelmed. Tony refused to give him one second more to stress over nonexistent inadequacy. With a final, slow lick, he released Steve’s hand and took possession of his cock, wrapping his fingers firmly at the base. Steve started at the sudden change in sensation, chin dipping down as he looked at Tony wide-eyed, then his head slammed back into the door.

“You still haven’t said it,” Tony reminded wickedly. He cupped Steve’s balls with his other hand, enjoying their weight in his palm. His own balls weren’t far from bursting, so he knew he needed to speed this up, much as he would have preferred showing off his prowess. “Don’t think I forgot.”

“Fuck,” Steve whispered before dragging in a gulp of air and biting his lip.

“Sorry, baby, didn’t hear you.” Tony flattened his tongue over the head of Steve’s cock, pressing just enough to allow the pre-cum to drip freely against the moist pad.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, his balls tightening to steel in Tony’s palm. He closed his hand over them, applying just enough pressure to make things interesting.

“One more time,” he demanded. “This time, with feeling.” He wrapped his lips around the head of Steve’s cock, tickling the frenulum with his tongue as he made low _mmming_ sounds to cause small vibrations. The fingers were back in his hair, clutching desperately, letting him know he was on target.

“Tony,” Steve moaned, his knees buckling as his free hand slammed back into the door.

He released Steve’s shaft only long enough to murmur, “Wrong word,” before getting back to business. He hadn’t had enough hands-on experience to learn every one of Steve’s hot spots yet—a deficit he planned to rectify with intense research every chance he got—but he knew quite a few. Actually, Steve was responsive to just about anything he did, which stoked his already big ego in the best possible way, while simultaneously making him hurt for just how little attention Steve had gotten in his life. Not that it mattered. That would never be a problem again. Not as long as Tony Stark sucked air into his lungs. And on the subject of sucking, he quickly got a steady rhythm going on the head of Steve’s cock. Nothing too fancy. Neither of them was going to hold out much longer. Peeking upward, Tony could see Steve was about ready to lose his mind—and everything else—and his own cock actually hurt, it needed release so fucking bad. Using his teeth, Tony pushed back the edges of Steve’s foreskin—a quaint attribute of his retro lover that made Tony a little crazy; one he exploited to his advantage every chance he got. Steve’s gasping moans were sweet music, and Tony got so stoked, he would have swallowed the whole cock, and every inch of Steve along with it, if he could. But Steve was coming. He could feel it. He could smell it. He could taste it. Tugging lightly on the swollen balls he held hostage in his grip, Tony tongued the head of Steve’s penis, painting extra hard strokes over the little spot at the tip of the frenulum.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve cried out desperately, pounding the door as Tony sucked him hard and finished the job. Making Steve come so forcefully, extracting the string of rare swear words that continued throughout the explosion, tasting the life-force of his lover who he’d come so close to losing, sent Tony over the edge. He managed to finish swallowing and get Steve safely out of his mouth before he hit the tile, rolling like a turtle on his back as he fought his stubborn jeans with unsteady hands.

“Get down here,” he pleaded, not sure Steve was even hearing him yet. Unlike Steve, he had on briefs under his pants, briefs currently caught in the lower portion of his fucked-up zipper. He hated zippers. “Fuck you, Whitcomb L. Judson and Gideon freakin’ Sunback.”

“Who?” Steve asked stupidly as he dropped to his knees beside Tony.

“The guys credited with inventing the fucking zipper,” Tony snapped, sucking in his abdomen to try and make more room to get himself free. Was he really just talking about inventors? “Shit, I’m babbling. All blood flow has left the brain. Get me out of this!”

Steve got his fingers under the waistband and literally ripped the jeans in half, legs and all. The part of Tony’s briefs that was caught ripped too, and he quickly shimmied out of the rest, so fucking turned-on by Steve’s caveman solution he was having trouble breathing. He flattened his palms on Steve’s chest, pushing, while panting, “Down boy, down-down-down!”

Steve complied, falling on his back, his ankles still twisted in his shorts. Tony tore off his own tee-shirt and climbed atop him, hiking the tank up to Steve’s chin before flattening over him, sealing their chests together. He shoved his already leaking cock against Steve’s flaccid one, humping over it and between Steve thighs, taking the delicious mouth with his and kissing for all he was worth, fully aware he still tasted of Steve-cream. Steve was moaning deliciously beneath him, his fingers fanning out over Tony’s ass, encouraging every thrust. The traces of sand still peppering Steve’s legs became cemented by sweat, scratching Tony’s thighs and feet. Steve smelled like the beach—and chocolate, and fruit, and some brand of manly soap that Tony wasn’t familiar with but must have been what Agent put in the showers. What he didn’t smell like was fear or debility or mortality—or even Hulk-ass.

Tony braced his hands on either side of Steve’s head and lifted himself as he came. As he exploded, his jiz gushed out all over Steve, which was exactly what he wanted, what he needed; a primitive urge he couldn’t deny, marking his claim with his seed and his scent, announcing to the fucking world: THIS IS MINE AND YOU CAN’T HAVE IT.

Didn’t fucking matter that when he’d finally shot the last of his wad, he collapsed onto Steve, landing smack into the sticky coat of seminal shellac he had just laid down. He was too stinking satiated to have more than a cursory awareness of discomfort.

They were both flat and breathing unsteadily for a good while. Tony tucked his head under Steve’s chin, cheek to sternum, not realizing he’d poked the tank top practically in Steve’s mouth until he reached up to swat it away. His foot got caught in Steve’s shorts when he landed, but he didn’t have the energy to untangle yet. Eventually, he started to feel guilty about Steve being pressed into the hard, cold, tile floor with all of his weight atop him. “We should move.”

“Yup.”

The only movement Steve made was to card his fingers through Tony’s hair, so Tony figured they were staying put a while longer. He looked up the two stairs into the largest part of the suite, at the plush carpet, and big cushy bed in particular. The balcony doors were open. A soft sea breeze rustled the curtains, the sound of the waves and the still-frolicking team drifting in upon it. He grew concerned that Steve was going to succumb to his old-time politeness and say they had to return to the party after having left so rudely, but Tony had zero intention of letting that plan see fruition. In fact, his brain began tinkering with different designs of locks he might utilize to discourage Steve from _ever_ leaving.

“We don’t have a good track record of making it to beds,” Steve noted with amusement.

“We’ll get there.” Tony unsealed his cheek from Steve and gazed down at him. “You didn’t think I was done with you tonight, did you?”

Steve’s grin put to rest all Tony’s fears of his wanting to retreat. “I was hoping not.”

“Hell, baby, I’m just warming up. Got a lot of lost time to make up for. What’s it been? Like four years since I’ve gotten to touch you like this?”

“I think five.” The brief flash of pain clouding the blue eyes told Tony Steve truly felt that length of separation, despite what any calendar said.

“Gonna make it up to you, baby-blue,” he whispered, trailing kisses across Steve’s throat.

“You don’t have anything to make up. It was my fault—”

“ _Shhhh_.” Tony flattened the tip of his finger atop Steve’s lips. “Let that go. Gone. Delete. Stay with me here and now.”

Steve’s reply was to suck Tony’s finger into his mouth. He’d figured out pretty quick in their relationship that Steve got off on doing that, but he wondered if Steve knew how hot it made him to watch. His mind was quick to locate the file titled ‘Teaching Steve to Give a Blowjob,’ those memories tweaking his nuts despite their recent eruption. “Oh, you’re ready for round two already, huh, hot stuff?”

Steve reluctantly turned the finger lose. “Actually, I was hoping we could shower first. The ceiling fan is drying things and I think we’re pretty much sealed together in the not good way.”

“The cruddy way,” Tony laughed. He did his best to try to peel himself off, though even being plastered together by dried jiz and sand felt better than parting from Steve. “Shower it is, though that might push your goal of making it to the bed back a bit more.”

“Not if we shower separately.”

“What fun is that?” Tony complained as he got to his feet, bending to yank the shorts fully off Steve’s legs so he could get up more easily.

“No fun,” Steve agreed as he climbed to his feet. “But we could be quick.”

“That what you really want?”

Steve did that thing where his chin dropped, eyes to the floor, shying away before he lifted his head back up to say, “Actually, I was hoping we could test out the ‘rumbling, warm pool of bubbling delight.’”

Tony had to laugh at the way Thor’s words sounded coming from Steve. “The Jacuzzi tub?”

“I’ve never been in one.”

“Jacuzzi it is, then. And you’re right. We better shower separately or we’ll never make it to the tub.” He bent to pick up the rags that were once his pants. “Good thing I packed an extensive wardrobe, considering how much you like tearing off my clothes.”

“Me? If you weren’t all thumbs whenever it came time to get your clothes off, maybe I wouldn’t have to rip them so often.”

“Maybe I should look into Velcro fastenings.”

“Stop whining.” Steve snatched the ragged jeans from Tony’s hand and grinned at him. “You know you love it when I rip your clothes off.” He tossed the clothing over his shoulder and headed up the stairs into the bedroom area, grinning.

Tony grinned as well as he hastened to catch up. “I do love it. Does that make me shameless?”

“You think _that’s_ what makes you shameless?” Steve had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard.

Tony darted past him down the hall, reaching the bathroom first, slamming the door behind him. “I call dibs on first shower!”

“See? Shameless.”

“I heard that.”  

~0~0~0~


	13. Chapter 13

“Hurry up,” Tony whined, pounding on the door of the shower cube.

“I just got in here,” Steve countered, quickly soaping body, face, and hair in one swoop. “You were the one who took forever.”

“Hey, it takes a while to shower off sand and semen. Don’t want to miss any crevices.”

“Then why are you rushing me?”

“Because we both know you shower faster than me. Why are you taking so damn long now?”

Tony was in his pouty place, so Steve decided not to point out he had been in the shower stall a total of ninety seconds compared to Tony’s fifteen minutes. Instead, he began washing double time while suggesting, “Why don’t you get the tub ready?”

“Oh. Yeah. Good idea.”

The glass on the stall was still steamed up from Tony’s lengthy shower, so he couldn’t really see what Tony was up to, but he did hear him go in and out of the bathroom a few times. In about four minutes’ time, when Steve turnedoff the faucets and reached out for a towel, Tony was once again complaining.

“You’re done? Stop rushing me. What kind of human being takes a shower that fast? Get back in there and wash behind your ears or something.”

“Okay.” Shaking his head, Steve closed the shower door again, and turned the water back on, just standing under it because he was done. His own patience only lasted maybe another five minutes before he complained, “I’m turning into a prune. Can I come out now?”

“Almost.”

He could hear the rumble from the Jacuzzi and the splashing of water, his heart pumping a little faster in anticipation. “Come on, Tony.” He was whining now. The whole showering separately thing had been his idea, but it turned out to be physically painful to be apart from Tony this long. “I miss you.”

“Awww, baby, I’m right here. Just one more second.” The lights in the bathroom cut off abruptly, but Steve could make out the flicker of candlelight—and Tony’s warm, blue glow—through the steamy wall. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Steve quickly turned off the shower faucets and opened the door, smiling at the way the Jacuzzi was now surrounded with candles; two long glasses filled with fruity tropical drinks with umbrellas were set next to the pillow rolls on the edges of the tub. What looked like a mini waterfall was cascading softly into the generous sunken tub, the surface of the water bubbling invitingly. Music began drifting softly through the bathroom.

“Ready to pop your Jacuzzi cherry, baby-blue?” Tony asked, eyebrows arching suggestively as he approached, hand extended towards Steve.

“Ready to do anything with you, cutie.” Steve eagerly accepted his hand, feeling the shiver that ran through Tony.

“Keep talking like that and we ain’t making it to any tub.” 

Steve didn’t really care where they made it to as long as they were together, but the tub did look tempting and Tony had gone to the trouble. “Come on.” He led Tony to the foot of the Jacuzzi and stepped in first. The water was steamy hot, which Steve appreciated despite his hot shower. He always preferred warm to cold, but he did worry about Tony’s comfort. “Isn’t this too hot for you?”

“I’ll muddle through,” Tony teased, stepping in and running his hands down the length of Steve’s front, then back up again, cupping his cheeks and kissing him. They kissed long and slow and deep, and Steve could already feel his hunger for Tony spike, but they had rushed this once tonight. Not that he regretted one moment of their lovemaking, which had been clumsy and wild and delightful, especially on the stairs—stairs he couldn’t even climb earlier this week, but tonight he could haul Tony up them two at a time. He was actually amazed they lasted as long as they did, considering how hot and fast the desire between them had returned. He was flabbergasted when Tony approached him on the beach, making clear the drought was over. He about came in his shorts right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t even just about the sex, though sex with Tony was better than anything could ever be. But to know Tony was feeling better, letting go of some of the twisted pain he had had to endure, that was what truly sent Steve’s spirits flying to the moon.

“Um, I know you’re new at this and all,” Tony whispered around kisses against Steve’s throat. “But you do actually need to sit down to get the full effect. Otherwise, we could get in the shower.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, aware he was grinning like a goof.

“Turn around.”

Steve did as he was asked, his back to Tony’s front now as Tony wrapped fingers around his wrists and drew him downward, kissing his back and neck as they seated themselves beneath the now chest-high water, which rumbled over them in warm, bubbling waves. He had never felt anything like it, his skin tingling everywhere. Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, maintaining their connection, but for the most part stayed quiet, giving Steve time to acclimate to the differing sensations. Pulses of water came from all sides, like a wet massage, loosening and relaxing muscles, lulling in a way that was almost hypnotic. Everything about this tub—the waterfall sounds, the temperature, the gentle waves, the massaging spouts—was aimed at enticing you to relax, let go. What an amazing invention.

After a time, Tony’s hands enhanced the massage quality, fingers playing over Steve’s muscles and scalp until he felt sure he was going to fall asleep, but then he’d rouse again, his cock and balls twitching with sensations that felt almost tickly, which was strange and exciting at once. Eventually, he turned around and they played and kissed and poured cupped handfuls of water over each other. And then Tony’s back was to him and he eagerly rubbed at the tensions he knew still existed beneath the surface despite Tony’s gallant efforts to leave them behind. But it was okay. They were okay. Bruised and scarred and still a little off-kilter, but nothing that marred their devotion to each other. They were survivors, managing to stand back up every time life knocked them down—and now they had each other to lean on. A pretty unbeatable combination to Steve’s way of thinking.

The large tub was almost rectangular but for the rounded corners, one of which they eventually found their way to, nestling there, heads upon the soft, water-resistant pillow rolls. Each of their backs rested against opposite curves of the corner, shoulders touching, Steve’s legs draped over Tony’s lap, his lower cheeks brushing the side of Tony’s left thigh beneath the pulsing water. Tony handed him one of the colorful drinks in the fancy glass. He nudged the little umbrella aside with his nose, sipping from the rainbow straw, savoring the way the icy coolness pouring down his throat contrasted against the heat of his skin. It tasted sweet and fun and fruity, and though Steve couldn’t be affected by the alcoholic content, his head was spinning nonetheless. For him, Tony was a more potent elixir than any cocktail could ever be.

“Whitcomb Sunback?” Steve blurted, his straw poking into his cheek as he laughed. The name had popped into Steve’s lazing brain, recalling the preposterous image of the two of them.

“Whitcomb L. Judson and Gideon Sunback,” Tony corrected, nearly spitting his sip back into his glass. He wiggled his hip to nudge Steve’s rear. “If you’re going to remember my inane rambling, be accurate.”

“You’re lucky I’m not offended that sucking me off makes you think about zipper inventors.”

“My mind works in mysterious ways.” Tony was chuckling as he took another long swig of his drink, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“I like how your mind works . . . even if it is a mystery.” Steve chose not to close his eyes, enjoying watching Tony as he nursed his drink and relished this moment.

“There’s no mystery to how I feel about you.”

“True. You did broadcast that pretty publically.”

Tony grinned. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? But you were the one who instigated the kiss that crashed Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube simultaneously.”

“Yup, that was me all right.”

“You are a powerful kisser, Steven Rogers.”

“Me? Nah. I’m just a novice. Not even in your league.”

Without opening his eyes, drink still perched in his left hand, Tony snaked his fingers around Steve’s foot beneath the water, playing with his toes. “My ‘league’ is made up of one All-Star.”

“Baseball metaphor. I’m impressed. I thought I heard you say baseball is tedious and boring.”

“I think I said tediously dull, but it doesn’t matter. My boyfriend likes the sport, so I gotta be fluent.”

“Did you just call me your boyfriend?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Nope. Just asking. Sounds like the kind of old-fashioned term you’d tease me for using, cutie-pie, but I think it’s swell.”

“Wanna go steady?”

“You bet.”

“Good. I’ll go on TV tomorrow to announce it.”

They both laughed and Tony took another sip of his drink. But a moment later, his eyes opened and he set the drink on the ledge of the tub. “Hey, wait a second. I didn’t keep my promise.”

“What promise?”

“The one I made after the last time I went on TV.” Steve was confused as Tony took the drink out of his hand and set it down as well. “I brought you to this beautiful island to have the right setting. Well, okay, wasn’t aiming for _this_ island, exactly, and we did get a little sidetracked when we got here, but I don’t intend to make a habit out of breaking promises to you, baby-blue.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tony leaned closer, his fingers combing through Steve’s wet hair, his eyes glowing from more than candlelight. “Would you consider this a sufficiently private, romantic place?”

Steve understood then, his neck and cheeks heating from more than the temperature of the water. As much as he wanted this very thing, he felt compelled to be honest. “Tony, it’s okay. You didn’t break your promise. You told me. Yesterday morning. When you laid down to rest with me after the whole lifting the couch incident.”

“That doesn’t count. I was a wasted mess. I don’t remember half of what I said.”

“Of course it counts, Tony, I know—”

“Rogers, are you really going to piss on my moment, here?” Tony’s eyes were twinkling and his grin was completely caddish. Steve adored him.

“Sorry.” He waved his hand to give Tony the floor—or the tub, in this case—inadvertently flicking water into Tony’s eye. “You were saying?”

Tony used his thumb to wipe the splash from his eye, but he remained undaunted. He slid out from under Steve’s legs, then lifted himself to straddle them, kneeling into Steve as he took his face between his wet palms. “What I was saying was something I should have said long before this. I wanted to say it the night you told me, but I was too busy freaking out. I sure as hell didn’t want to tell it to you in bed, because I would have sounded like any other guy saying whatever to get a leg over. Then we had a few timing issues, what with you losing the back of your head and all. I never exactly meant to say it aloud for the _first_ time at a press conference and you had a right to be ticked about that, but you weren’t because you’re amazing. My whole island seduction plan pretty much got shredded before we even got off the plane, not leaving many romantic opportunities. When you finally did fight your way back from the moonshine mind-fuck, I decided to take a dive off the deep end of the crazy pool for a while, so we’ve had more than a few setbacks, but blah blah blah, excuses, excuses. Get on with it, Stark.”

He leaned in to press his lips against Steve’s forehead, remaining there for a moment as he took in a long breath. When he drew back he looked almost sheepish, the Tony Stark veneer of brash confidence nowhere in sight. “Shouldn’t be so complicated to say something simple. I don’t mean simple like ‘oh, it’s this little thing.’ No, I mean simple because, from the minute I met you, there it was. No use denying it. I tried, believe me. But a fact is a fact, and facts for me are simple to understand. Only it wasn’t. But then it was.” Tony’s finger played over Steve’s lips and he resisted the urge to swallow it because he wanted—no, needed—to hear what Tony had to say, and Tony looked determined to speak despite the quaver in his voice. “Because I’m my best self when I’m with you. An argument could be made about whether even my best self is worth a damn, but it’s all I got and it’s yours. You manage to quiet the bedlam inside me even as you incite a whirlwind of emotion that boggles my mind and finally makes clear why my heart still works. It had to keep beating all these years so I could give it to you. I’m in love with you, Steve Rogers. Heart, soul, brain, dick, the whole smack. All in. All yours. I love you.”

Steve’s hands were shaking when he lifted them to press flat against Tony’s chest, thumbs caressing the arc reactor that insured the treasured heart would continue to beat. “That was worth waiting for,” he whispered, unsure if he had words strong enough to respond. “You are worth way more than a damn, and I’ll prove it to you every day, if you let me. I love you so much. I tried to fight loving you, but even I’m not that strong.” He grinned and shook his head. “You can’t fight your destiny. And you are a force of nature, Anthony Edward Stark. I think your will is so strong, it managed to reach back in time to years before you were even born to put things in motion. That’s why I met your dad . . . why he was instrumental in helping Dr. Erskine get the formula to work. Because I was supposed to be here. For you.”

“You do realize invoking my dad when my cock is rubbin’ up on yours is a boner killer, right?” Tony teased as he leaned forward to nibble Steve’s earlobe. Steve understood humor was Tony’s camouflage. He could feel the way Tony was shaking against him. Or maybe he was the one who was shaking? Didn’t matter. They were in this together.

“I can fix that,” he offered, sliding his hand down Tony’s chest and reaching beneath the water, wrapping his fingers around a boner that didn’t feel even close to dead.

“You here to fix my plumbing?” Steve didn’t get whatever humorous reference Tony was giggling at, but he laughed, too, enjoying Tony’s delight. Rising up and pushing closer, Tony rubbed himself shamelessly over Steve’s stomach. “Better get your tool ready.”

“My tool is more than ready,” Steve admitted between a round of sloppy kisses. When Tony finally released his mouth to feast on his chin, he added, “Want to know what I really want?”

Tony leaned back, getting just enough distance between them for Steve to see the desire in his eyes. “Name it. It’s yours.”

Steve hesitated. His certainty was unwavering, but the words managed to get caught in his throat, tangled with thick emotions his heart no longer had room for, which were spilling out, threatening to choke him. Tony decided to make good use of the lull, sucking in a breath before dipping his head below the surface of the water, lips and teeth latching onto Steve’s nipple. Steve jolted so hard from the charge that raced through him, he popped out of the water like a sea lion in a show at the New York Aquarium. When he came back down with a splash that soaked a good chunk of the bathroom floor, Tony was grinning brazenly.

“Sorry,” he offered, not sounding the least bit contrite.

“Warn a guy,” Steve sputtered, realizing just how hypersensitive the hot, frothy water had made his flesh.

“Consider yourself warned,” Tony growled, wrapping himself around Steve, his tongue and mouth feasting on any inch of him they got near. Steve fell back against the slippery, curved corner of the tub, managing to get one arm around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer still. Tony was relentless, hands and teeth acting in tandem like a well-conditioned strike-force whose mission was to exact complete surrender. Steve was more than willing to yield, resigning himself to the idea he was about to cream their pretty tub, wondering what it was going to feel like to come underwater, giving a wayward thought to the idea they would need to shower again after they filled the bath with his sperm. Tony had backed him against one of the water jets, which was pulsing against his ass in way that was obscene, though no more so than the way Tony’s knee was humping between his thighs, knocking against his balls while Tony’s fist pumped Steve’s cock in a counter rhythm that was maddening.

“Tell me,” Tony insisted between hungry kisses.

Steve was clueless, his blood having left his brain to travel to areas where it was vitally needed. “Huh?”

“You were going to tell me what you really wanted.”

“This. This is . . . great.”

Tony’s laugh was wicked, but his hands didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t lie to me, Boy Scout. That wasn’t what you were going to say.”

Steve got a hand behind Tony’s head, fingers tangling in the thick, wet locks, pulling him in for a kiss he hoped would answer whatever question he was being asked, because he had lost track. Tony faltered slightly from the power of it, his hand slipping off Steve’s cock, his knee skipping a few thrusts. Steve tore his mouth from Tony’s, sucking in air while gasping, “You . . . like this . . . only . . . .”

“Only what?”

The yearning was beyond anything he’d ever experience and thankfully the words finally caught up. “I want . . . you to be inside me. All the way. The whole thing.”

It was Tony’s turn to jolt. He shot back in the water as if someone had dropped an electric radio in the tub with the cord still plugged, shockwaves rocking the pool around them. Steve took advantage of the breather, trying to suck needed air into his lungs and clear his head enough to make sense. He hoped he hadn’t just ruined everything. “I’m sorry. I probably should have asked that better, but that was the best I could come up with.”

Tony gaped at him from the middle of the tub where he had landed. “Sorry? No, no sorries. No-no-no. Hang on. Let me breathe here. Just don’t be sorry, whatever you do, don’t do that.” He slapped his hands together under the water and scooped a huge pool, splashing it up onto his face. “Ah, fuck, hot. Hot! Not helping.”

“Tony.” Steve reached out his hand, encouraging Tony to come closer.

“Fuck, baby, talk about warn a guy.” Tony shook himself, slapping the side of his face. “Real smooth, Stark. Jackass. Okay, okay. Brain-drive coming back online.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel badly. Tony looked completely staggered, but there was something else there, a gleam that got brighter as he made his way back to Steve. “We could just go back to what we were doing,” Steve offered, not sure what else to say.

“Oh, no, no, no, that is _not_ a cat that can go back in the bag.”

“What cat?”

Tony was laughing now, palms flattening against the sides of Steve’s head. “You are utterly amazing and I am so fucking lucky.” Sweet, silly kisses dropped all over Steve’s face, neck, and shoulders. They felt wonderful and Tony seemed to be happy, but still jittery.

“Um, Tony, are we still talking about . . . you know?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony pulled back, looking into Steve’s eyes. “Forgive me for fucking this up. Please? I’m going to do better. I just . . . you just . . . I wasn’t . . . shit.” Tony’s head fell back and he looked towards the ceiling as if there were answers written there. Not knowing what else to do, Steve slid his hand behind Tony’s neck and pulled their faces together, kissing him, slowly, gently, trying to take away all the anxiety and help them both calm down. Tony returned his kisses eagerly, gently, and for a while Steve couldn’t think about anything other than how in love he was.

His body calmed, his heart rate returning to something approaching steady. When he finally parted from Tony’s lips, he whispered, “We should wait, until we’re both ready. Until it’s what we _both_ want.”

Tony ran a finger gently over the lips he had just kissed so devotedly. “You think I’m not ready? That I don’t _want_ . . . .” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, its warmth brushing over Steve’s face, they were still so close. “Yeah, I could see how it might look like that. Do me a favor, baby. Remember the night in your apartment when I told you I wanted you to fuck me? Okay, wait, I think I said it a little slicker than that, right?”

Steve played his fingers over the soft, wet facial hair, the memory vivid. “You did. And I do remember.” At first, he recalled how amazing the night was, how much he loved Tony, wanted to show him, felt honored to be desired like that, how beautiful their lovemaking had been. But then flashbacks of his panic completed the recollection. “I was terrified I would hurt you; that I would mess up somehow. Ruin things. But I didn’t know what I was doing. You . . . you . . . .” Steve didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want them here, couldn’t stand thinking of Tony as anything other than _his_.

Tony pulled Steve’s head to his chest, flattening his chin in Steve’s hair. “You think I can’t mess this up? Believe me, fucking up somebody’s first is the kind of fuck-uppery there’s no coming back from. Stays with the person, believe me, I know.”

Steve didn’t like the injury he sensed in Tony’s voice. He could suddenly relate to The Hulk’s need to smash the culprit who had hurt him today. He wanted to do that for Tony; rip apart everyone who’d ever damaged him. But anger didn’t have a place here. He focused instead on his heart, his love. “You could never mess up, sweetheart. I love you too much. And I trust you completely.”

“I want to be that guy I see when those amazing blue eyes of yours look at me. Be patient while I get there, okay?”

“You’re already there.” Steve lifted his head from the cocoon of Tony’s chest and arms. “And I’m fine with waiting until you feel ready for all this.”

“Oh, hell no,” Tony grinned. “No backsies, baby. That sweet ass of yours is going to be _mine_. I’ve wanted you way too long to let a couple of my stupid insecurities get in my way. But first, we gotta set some ground rules.”

Steve wasn’t sure he heard much after _going to be mine_ , too lost in the hungry way Tony was looking at him, and the way his cock was throbbing back to life in anticipation. “I . . . wait . . . what? Rules?”

“You heard me, soldier. Rules and regulations. You ought to feel right at home with those. But this isn’t the field, and you’re not the captain here. We’re doing this my way, so don’t get any ideas about using your super strength to goad me into doing anything that would hurt you.”

“Tony, you can’t hurt me. I’m better.”

“Oh, really? You think I can’t hurt you, super soldier?” Tony’s voice was adamant, his eyes unyielding. “Think again. I could hurt you here.” Tony finger’s brushed the front of Steve’s forehead. “And more importantly, I could hurt you here.” He flattened his palm over Steve’s heart. “Not acceptable outcomes. So I call the shots. No out-muscling me, no pulling rank, got it?”

And this, right here, was just one of a thousand reasons Steve loved Tony Stark. He flattened his own palm over Tony’s, which was still nestled protectively over his heart. “I got it. But for the record, I would _never_ overpower you in bed. I would never disrespect you that way. There’s always one person who’s stronger in any situation. Doesn’t make it fair to use power to get your way. No real man would ever use his strength, super or otherwise, to do something like that. What goes on between two people on the most intimate level has to be about love and trust, otherwise what’s the point? Besides, I’m not really sure why you need a rule, because you pretty much always call the shots here.” He pointed between their naked, entwined bodies and grinned. “Because it _is_ safer that way. And because—”

“You _like_ it,” Tony growled in a smoky voice, his steamy gaze causing Steve to flush burning crimson.

“Maybe.”

“And maybe I like it when you bend those rules sometimes, when you know I want you to, oh, like say a certain shower instance when someone who looked just like you wickedly denied me my much-earned orgasm.”

“I might remember an instance like that,” Steve nodded, licking his lips, which had suddenly gone dry.

“Sex is always negotiable, sweetheart, and we’ll figure all this out so long as you stick with me.”

“Never going anywhere.”

“Never letting you.” Tony pressed his mouth to Steve’s whispering, “But for tonight, no rule bending. No renegotiating. No games. Let me do this right. Let me give you everything you deserve. Deal?”

“More than a deal. A promise.” A promise they sealed with a searing kiss, Steve more than ready to open himself fully to Tony right then and there.

Tony had other ideas. Pulling back from their kiss, he grinned. “Great. First order of business is getting the hell out of this tub before my dick turns into an over-boiled, useless prune.”

“You are such a sweet-talker, cutie pie.”

0~0~0~


	14. Chapter 14

Tony stared at himself in the full length mirror near the sitting area of the suite trying—and failing—to resist giving himself a pep talk.

“Okay, you’re not allowed to screw this up, Stark. And you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at his dick, which was currently laying low in his pubes, playing innocent. “Keep it cool, understood?” He gave himself a suspicious look. Pep talks were probably more effective when they were peppier.

“Ah, fuck peppy.”

“Tony, are you talking to me?” Steve called from the bathroom.

“No.”

“Oh, okay. Thought I heard something. Be right out.”

“Take your time.”

_But hurry the fuck up._

Tony kept his shit together a lot better with Steve close by than away from him. This afternoon was an unsettling reminder. He snagged a bottle of water off the serving cart as he walked by, noting how depleted Steve had left it, despite first arguing with Tony about not needing the snack at all. Tony was aware Steve’s metabolism was still operating in a calorie deprived state, so he’d gotten the staff to bring up the light spread when they’d come out of the Jacuzzi. Despite his protests, Steve downed the sandwiches in short order, giving Tony time to ready the room a little: transport a few candles in from the bathroom, adjust the music and temperature, turn down the bed to insure they actually made it there. Tony would have liked to make things more special for Steve, but he didn’t have much opportunity since Steve was watching his every move, standing with a sandwich in one hand, half a hard-on between his legs, twitching like a guy so desperate to get an itch scratched, there was a likelihood he’d pop at the first touch.

Tony was a little insecure about his own poppage, wondering how he was going to keep from blowing at the site of Steve’s ass opening for him. He’d nearly lost it in the damned Jacuzzi at just the suggestion of getting inside Steve. He’d given half a thought to a quick wank to take off the edge, but his dick had already taken a vacation once this week. Did he really want to risk an empty tank at a crucial moment?

“You’re over-thinking, Stark. Right. Big surprise.” He double-checked the nightstand drawer to make sure the stuff he’d tucked in there when Steve headed to the john to brush his teeth was reachable. “Wait a second,” he muttered, picking up the pack of condoms.

_“Why do you think we even need this?”_

_“Protection. I would never be unsafe with you, Steve. I’m sure they had condoms in the dark ages, too, right?”_

_“I’m not saying I don’t know what it is. I was asking why you thought you needed it. Think, genius. Neither one of us is getting pregnant. I don’t have any diseases to give you and if you have any, I can’t catch them.”_

_“I don’t have diseases. I’ll have you know I am very meticulous, and even though I have the reputation of a playboy—albeit a reputation I have been known to perpetuate myself a time or three to maintain my prestige—at no point have I ever been someone who-ooo-ohhhh. Time-out. Holy shit! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”_

_“The light bulb finally switched on?”_

_“You’re talking about bare-backing! Hell, even I’ve never done that.”_

_“If that’s the term, I guess that’s what I’m talking about. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine. I was only pointing out we have options, Tony.”_

The condom packet fell from his unsteady fingers, dropping back into the drawer as Tony reeled from his mind’s replay of his conversation with Steve, the word _bare-backing_ repeating in a loop. “Holyshit.” He slammed the drawer closed, considering the ramifications. _Can I really do that? Will I really do that? Steve’s right, though. Who am I protecting? Crap, maybe I’m protecting me. Can I handle this? I mean, the idea of fucking Steve au naturel . . . fuck me, oh hell._

Tony’s cock was quickly chiming an opinion, and he glared down at it. “I told you to behave!”

“What?” Steve called.

“Nothing. I, um, I said I was going out onto the balcony for some air. Take your time.”

He’d only taken two steps out onto the balcony when he realized balmy, moist, tropical air wasn’t going to help. Why the hell couldn’t he be at a ski chalet? Then he could have frozen the fucker back into submission. “I am _sooo_ going to fuck this up.”

_Get a grip, Stark. You have wanted to get up inside Steve since the day you met him. And that was before you fell head over dick in love with him. Yeah, you’ll be his first. And yeah, he’ll be your first in a way. First like **that**. No sweat. All cool. You got this._

“I don’t fucking got this!” Tony pressed himself into the glass wall of the balcony, trying to do anything to tame his erection before he shot his wad right here. “Stop, stop, stop.”

The noise on the beach caught his attention and he glanced down to where the rest of the team still cavorted drunkenly around the bonfire to the even louder music. Walt and Mark and Carolyn had joined the group. Some of the help, too. And people he didn’t even recognize, probably a collection of Thor’s groupies. Apparently a full-tilt party had gotten going since they left. Barton was straddling Agent’s lap, the two of them necking like teens. Good for Coulson. He deserved some sugar, even if he couldn’t have the whole cake right now. Natasha had stripped to bra and panties, currently bent into a position that would put a contortionist to shame as she shimmied beneath a flaming limbo poll. Thor was no longer in shorts and a tank top; he was now bare-chested, wrapped in the makeshift sarong Bruce had been sporting earlier, with a huge straw purple version of what looked like the _Hawaiian Punch_ guy’s hat perched sideways on his head. He was leading a bumbling conga line in a merry chase after Bruce, who was now running naked along the shoreline carrying a tiki torch.

“Apparently this is what you get when you give The Hulk a day of play and then let Banner get drunk after.”

He didn’t realize Steve was behind him, in the suite, leaning on the door, until he heard him laugh. “They’re still having fun, huh?”

“Seems like,” Tony said as he turned. Steve was damp and gorgeous, somewhat shyly covered from the waist down with a towel tied around his hips. “You showered again?”

Steve shrugged awkwardly, looking a lot more like a nervous teen than a nonagenarian. “Wanted to make sure . . . you know . . . don’t want to be . . . .” He took a deep breath, eyes going to his scrubbed toes and back up again. “Thought I’d clean up.”

Only Steve would consider himself not fresh enough despite a Hulk-decontamination shower, a regular shower, and a lengthy bath, but it reflected a level of thoughtfulness mixed with guilelessness that touched Tony’s heart. Steve Rogers was made up of a million such extraordinary pieces. Steve was Steve. No one like him. No one even close to like him. Being fortunate enough to know him was a gift unto itself, but being the one who got to love him, that was miraculous, especially for a guy who never bought into miracles—until lately.

“Sorry I took so long,” Steve added, probably mistaking Tony’s silence for something other than the awe he was feeling. He fisted the knot of his towel with one hand, the other scratching the back of his head. “I’m kind of, um, I think I’m a little nervous. Are we still good?”

“I’m good,” Tony answered, his anxiety dropping to a manageable level, his insides manning-up in the face of Steve’s timidity. He could—and would—do anything to protect Steve’s unsullied heart. “You, on the other hand, are perfect.”

Steve’s smile was uncertain as Tony moved towards him. Steve awoke a protective instinct within him at a level he’d never experienced before. The idea that Captain America needed protecting would seem, on the surface, to be false logic, but Tony was privileged enough to see inside the soul of the man, not the myth. Tony understood, now, more than ever, the degree of isolation, suffering, pain, and loss Steve bore so stoically upon broad shoulders that shunted his own burdens aside in order to keep from buckling under the heavy yoke of hero, a role demanded of him by a world that possessed few true heroes—and probably deserved even fewer. 

He stopped directly in front of Steve, flattening his palms over his chest. Steve’s skin was like wet silk on living steel. His heartbeat was strong, like him, but pounding too fast. Tony realized his own had calmed, beating steadily beneath the apparatus casting a warm blue glow over Steve’s skin. Refusing to entertain any further thoughts of failure, he chose, instead, to be the man Steve Rogers deemed worthy of his love. “It’s okay to be feeling off-balance.”

“Really?” Steve scoffed. “Because I feel like an idiot. I’m a grown man, but I don’t have any idea what to do, how to act, what to say. I know I want to be with you, but I don’t even know what that means. I feel like I should have read a book or something.”

“Or more Internet porn?” Tony teased.

“No, I’m done with that, believe me.” Tony had hoped to put him at ease with the joke, but Steve only looked more flustered as he shook his head, fingers restively shoving back damp hair. “To tell the truth, I’ve been feeling like I should have gotten laid in a Flatbush alley at fifteen like half the punks on my block, or maybe I should have taken a three-day pass to carouse with the other fellas, but then that wouldn’t have done me any good with this situation anyway, would it?”

Steve really had to be feeling unsure of himself to be postulating on whether he would have been better for having frequented a brothel, the idea so incongruous with who he was, Tony almost laughed. “You clearly had too much time to think while you were in that bathroom.” This had proven to be Steve’s nemesis in the past when they had slowed things down, but he wasn’t about to let the doubt get hold. He took Steve’s hand, leading him towards the bed. “Come on.”

“What am I saying? I didn’t mean that stuff. I don’t even know where that came from.”

“Nerves.” He cupped his palms over Steve’s shoulders and nudged him to sit on the end of the bed. “But you know what? You don’t have to be nervous.” He climbed over Steve’s legs, seating himself on his lap facing him. “See, this right here, this is you and me. You know how to do you and me. You’re spectacular at doing you and me.”

“Yeah, but this is different.” Steve pursed his lips uneasily.

“True. But the stuff you don’t already know, or catch on to from instinct, is the stuff I’m going to teach you.” Tony grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and twisted until Steve’s head bent back, his neck arched. “Because you’re not supposed to know anything about this that I don’t teach you, understand?” Tony punctuated the decree by sucking hard at Steve’s Adam’s apple. The sudden change in his tone had the desired effect, Steve’s body jolting, whatever nonsense he had been fretting about in his head clearly giving way to what was now resurging beneath his towel. _Much better_.

“You . . . you s-sure it’s okay?” Steve worried, even as he bent back, opening himself more. “Plain ole apple pie has to be boring to someone with your palate.”

Tony could appreciate the dark humor inherent in the irony: Steve’s concern that his virtue made him unappealing while Tony stressed over whether his lascivious past rendered him unsuitable.

Ice meets fire.

 _Look out, because fire is about to melt the shit out of every trace of ice that ever numbed my sweet Steve_ , _until he’s warm and toasty and safe in my arms forever._

“ _Mmmm_ , like me some apple pie.” He bit into Steve’s collarbone before adding, “Think I’m going to like your cherry pie even better.”

He could feel the tension in Steve’s muscles ease a fraction as he snickered at Tony’s suggestive remark. Pressing his advantage, he insisted, “Scoot back,” riding Steve as he fell back upon the mattress, then elbow-walked across it to haul them both to the center. When Steve stilled, Tony reached for his arms, guiding them to his sides before kneeling down on Steve’s hands. Then he leaned close, blowing his words over Steve’s face and mouth while holding his gaze steady.

“Do you think for one second I want you to know anything other than what I teach you? That I could stand you being anything other than _mine_ , one-hundred percent, body and soul?”

Steve’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips twice before he managed to speak. “I . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t think—”

“You don’t need to think. Not now. You need to _feel_.” Tony dipped his head to take one of Steve’s hypersensitive nubs between his teeth, nibbling there until Steve started squirming. “ _Mmmm_ , there you go. There’s a good start.” Steve started to pull his hand out from under Tony’s knee, but Tony bit down harder, waiting for the yelp before he let go and licked over the stone pebble. “Leave your hands where they are until I tell you otherwise. My rules, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve’s expression was staggered, his eyes unfocused. “But . . . could I kiss you a little?”

“No.” Tony paused, enjoying the onset of a pout, though not letting it come to full fruition. “But you can kiss me a lot.”

The minute their lips touched, Tony felt the acceleration, their mutual ability to take each other from zero to one-hundred and sixty faster than any race car Tony had ever driven. Tony was pretty sure he could come just from kissing Steve long enough, and wouldn’t mind testing the theory one day, but not tonight. Tonight he had bigger plans. He eventually relented when he could no longer stand the absence of Steve’s arms around him and freed his hands, stretching over him like a blanket, sealing their bodies as they continued to kiss.

“Can I?” Steve huffed on an exhale of needed breath.

“Yesss.”

Steve’s arms came around his back, pressing him closer still as Tony slid down his cheek and jaw, lapping at the freshly shaven sleekness. He rubbed his own chin hair over it, knowing Steve enjoyed the contrast. They were a study in contrasts: light and dark, physical and cerebral, sweet and saucy. They both had hairless chests, but Steve’s was natural while Tony spent time and good money keeping his body hair well-groomed. Despite fastidious grooming practices, Tony’s hair was still thicker: face, pubes, armpits, legs. Steve’s body hair was light in hue and baby-fine. The hair on Tony’s head was heavier as well, bordering on unruly most days, usually needing to be tamed into submission, while Steve’s mane was silky, neat, and well-behaved, requiring little maintenance. Tony had a thing for Steve’s hair, burying his fingers in it at every opportunity, whether they were alone or not. Steve didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Tony was pretty certain Steve enjoyed being petted, touched, paid attention to. And why not? He’d been starved for too long, but no more.

Steve’s pleasure sounds were music, and Tony worked to earn every one. He was currently feasting on Steve’s neck and right shoulder, biting into the rich flesh, making sure to leave a trail of reddish-purple breadcrumbs to chart his path. With his accelerated healing, any bruising on Steve had a shorter than average lifespan, but they’d look pretty for a while and Tony planned to enjoy them. In fact, he was quite interested in discovering how much pressure for what duration he needed to apply to leave the longest lasting evidence  while still bestowing pleasure—but then Steve’s hands cupped his ass and he lost his train of thought entirely.

He was grinding his cock into the towel that separated them— _why the fuck is this towel still here? No . . . towel is good. Can’t lose my wad yet. Keep the security-towel for a while._ The scratchiness of the fabric wasn’t nearly as rousing as Steve’s skin. _Who bought these cheap-shit towels anyway? Note: Talk to the help._ It was okay, though. His cock could wait. Tony’s upper body was already flaming from the heat between them, his tits hard enough to cut glass, and he didn’t even have particularly sensitive tits—not like Steve’s. Having a honking chunk of metal carved into your breastbone surrounded by a shitload of scar tissue had a nasty numbing effect on the neighboring real estate, but with Steve, for the first time since Afghanistan, he didn’t have to be hyper-vigilant in bed about his upper body weight or tin can chest. He could release his full weight, bump and grind all he wanted without injuring, resulting in more sensation than he’d ever known there.

The thought gave him pause. He lifted his head, looking down at Steve, tracing his fingers along the side of his face. “I love you.”

He must have sounded sappier than he’d intended because Steve’s brow furrowed. “I love you, too. Are you okay?”

“Just don’t think I tell you enough how great you are for me. In a million ways.”

Steve had the brightest smile. “ _Awww_ , well that’s great, cutie, because I love you in a million ways.” Securing one arm around Tony’s waist, Steve surged up and flipped them, pressing Tony gently into the pillows before covering his face, neck, and chest—arc reactor and all—in devoted kisses. Tony enjoyed the shower, his fingers nesting in their favorite spot in Steve’s hair as he took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m supposed to be seducing you,” he reminded playfully.

“You are,” Steve muttered between kisses, his fingertips playing over Tony’s stomach and hips with the focus and finesse of a sculptor. “Touching your body like this—” Steve’s breath caught in his chest, and he kissed and caressed a bit more before he tried speaking again. “Hard to believe I get to do this with you . . . with _you_.”

“Yeah? What makes me so special?”

“Only everything. You’re like something from a dream. You’ve got looks and charm and smarts and sophistication, but you’re also kind and loyal and generous and funny and you’re good, I mean really good. And you’re good to me.” Steve stopped kissing and shook his head, as if being good to him was such an unfathomable thing. “And not . . . not just because I’m Captain America.”

“I love Captain America.” Tony took hold of Steve’s chin. “You captivate me, Cap. But I love Steven Rogers even more.” Tony felt his throat constrict as he added, “And I really love little Stevie from Brooklyn. He’s pretty amazing.” Steve tried to turn his head, flushing with embarrassment, but Tony held tighter, not letting him. This was important and needed to be acknowledged. He should have said this much sooner. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Baby, I’m _privileged_ I got to meet Stevie. You hear me?” He felt Steve tremble awkwardly against his palm. “I am honored to be worthy of a trust like that. Any time Stevie needs to come back, that’s okay. He’s safe with me. In fact, I want to get him a teddy bear . . . like the one he wished for . . . when he was five.” Tony’s hand was shaking now, his voice cracking a little.

Steve groaned, eyes drawing downward. “Oh, boy, did I tell you that, too? My memories are still a little mixed up, like what was real, what wasn’t.”

“It was _all_ real for you, baby-blue, and I hate that, and I hurt for you, and I’m sorry as hell for what you went through.” Tony leaned forward, pressing his lips against Steve’s forehead. “But it’s over. You’re mine now, and you can have all the Teddy bears in the world if you want them.”

Steve’s eyes were moist when he lifted his head to gaze at Tony. “You already got me an Elmo.”

“Ah, yes. Elmo. That reminds me.” He kissed Steve again, then leaned over toward the bedside table where was Elmo sitting up against the lamp, gaping at them with his big white and black eyeballs. “Meant to do this earlier.” He turned Elmo to face the wall. “Elmo’s a little young to be witnessing the things I’m going to do to you.”

That earned him the desired laugh, and the tension eased from Steve’s body. “What, no earplugs?”

“He can’t hear anything over those la la la-la’s in his head.”

Steve snugged his arms around Tony’s waist and squeezed, falling to his side, turning Tony with him. “See, I don’t need a Teddy bear. I have Elmo. And I have my very own Tony-bear.”

 “Tony-bear!” Tony laughed and groaned at the same time, yanking Steve’s hair until they were face to face on the pillows. “You are not calling me that in public. I have a rep, you know, and I’ve already bent the rules for ‘cutie’ and ‘sweetie-pie.’”

“Okay, cutie-sweetie,” Steve said playfully, pecking at his lips. “How about in private then?”

“In private you can call me anything you want provided your lips are this close to my mouth . . . or my cock . . . or my ass.”

“Wow, opens up a lot of possibilities.” They were both laughing when Steve kissed him, and they bumped noses and teeth. But the kiss quickly deepened and lengthened, and Tony could feel the raw emotion building within Steve and pouring into him through their mouths until Steve finally pulled back and whispered softly, “I love you, angel-mine.”

“Angel-mine,” Tony repeated, quickly recognizing the words. “You said that before, when you were out of it. It means something to you, doesn’t it?”

“It’s what my mom used to call me.”

Tony didn’t mean to jerk away, but he was thrown by the significance of the love name Steve had just bestowed upon him. “Then that’s yours, Steve. It’s special.”

Steve reached out to draw him back until their noses were touching. “It is. _Very_ special. She used to sing me a lullaby called _Baby Mine_. I could hear her singing it this week, when I was so sick. But she called me angel-mine because she said I was her angel, sent from heaven, a special gift just for her, to fill her life with love and light. That’s the way I feel about you, Tony. It’s okay, right?”

Tony was too blown away for words, but he managed to nod. Steve kissed his lips and nose softly for a while, sighing against him when he eventually drew back. “You really were ready going to stick with me, even if I lost the serum.”

This one was easier to respond to. “You bet your pretty ass I was.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I might start feeling shallow.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way. I just . . . this is hard to explain, especially to someone like you. You wouldn’t know what it feels like to be invisible; to have people look right through you.”

Tony propped his elbow on the pillow and rested his cheek on his fist. “You’re right. People _do_ see me. I’m everywhere. Television. Internet. Newspapers. Magazines. The side of buildings. Plastered all over the ad section of the subway cars. They see me in their face, in their way, in places they wish they could be. People see someone they envy or despise. They see the enigma, the legend, the VIP. Paparazzi see me all the time. They love seeing me. So, no, baby, I don’t know what it’s like not to be noticed, not the way you do. But I can tell you that you are the only person who has ever seen this deep inside me, I mean really inside, even into the musty corners I don’t look at. I’ve figured out having a million eyes . . . a billion eyes . . . seeing you don’t matter. Only the right eyes matter. And yeah, I see you all right, and I see a helluva lot more than Captain America.”

“Can you see enough to know how much I want you right now?”

“Does that mean we can finally ditch this fucking towel?” Tony’s hand moved to the where the security-towel was twisted over Steve’s naval. “What did you knot this thing with, super glue?”

“You gonna let a little knot hold you back, Iron Man? I thought you were in charge here? You want it off, take it off.” Steve rolled to his back, interlocking his fingers behind his head, which he rested upon the pillows.

Tony licked his lips, salivating at the open invitation to debauchery presented to him, stoked that Steve finally felt relaxed enough to play. “Oh, I got a better idea. How ‘bout I make you beg me to take it off.” He shifted over Steve’s legs, digging his knees into the sides of Steve’s knees to keep them closed as he leaned forward, mouthing the protrusion of towel that protected Steve’s cock. He flattened the heel of his palm where the traces of Steve’s balls were, rubbing the scratchy material into them.

“Oooh! Hey! That’s not fair.”

“I don’t play fair.” Tony utilized his teeth just enough for Steve to feel the pinch beneath the terrycloth. “I think your towel has wood, baby.”

“Wood that would rather feel your tongue directly.”

“A pleasure that could be yours . . . for the right price.” He sucked at the material surrounding the head of Steve’s cock while continuing to roll his palm over his imprisoned balls. Steve groaned, hands coming out from behind his head, fingers gripping the edges of the pillowcase.

“Can’t . . . can’t be a lot of fun for you . . . _ohhh_ . . . sucking a towel.”

“There are worse things.” He lifted his head, shifting. It was even less pleasant rubbing his own thickening cock over the terrycloth, humping into Steve’s bulge, but he was confident he could get Steve to break fairly quickly with the right weapon. “A shame for you though. I bet you’re just aching to spread those thick thighs of yours nice and wide for me. For your cock to be free to strain towards my tongue where I could lick up those leaks rather than have that delicious cream wasted in this scratchy towel. _Mmmm_ , you know how I love to taste you, baby. And you like to watch me, don’t you? See my mouth wrap around you; see how hungry I look when I focus everything on pleasuring you. You want that, don’t you, honey?”

Steve’s head came up off the pillows than slammed back down, losing the battle before it even started. “ _Yesss_ . . . you know I do . . . shameless brat.”

Tony purred as he rubbed the outline of Steve’s cock harder. “That’s me. No sense fighting it because you know I’m incorrigible. Wait ‘til you see all the naughty things I’m going to do to you . . . all the naughty things you _want_ me to do to you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve moaned, hands flailing, one landing in Tony’s hair, trying to coax him closer.

“That’s not how to get what you want, baby.” Tony took hold of Steve’s wrist, guiding it away from his hair, sucking two of his fingers into his mouth and going to town on them until Steve’s head was thrashing wildly upon the pillows, body wantonly undulating beneath Tony’s.

“Tony, please . . . please take the towel off . . . do all those things to me . . . please.”

Tony bit down on his lip, fighting the urge to fuck Steve right then and there. He had to dial this down, or he was going to lose it. He also needed to be careful. Steve’s trust was fully exposed. If he played this too hard, too fast, he could break him. Easing the fingers from his mouth, he kissed them gently. “There you go. Not a bad start,” he praised, setting Steve’s hand at his side where his fist curled in frustration. “But I am going to have to teach you how to beg better than that.” At Steve’s miserable moan, Tony slowly started to undo the knot of the towel. “Shhh, no worries. Because you’re so cute, I’m going to take pity on you.”

“Thank you,” Steve whimpered, his face sleek with sweat, eyes wide and glazed as he looked at Tony with gratitude and confused desire, too accustomed to wanting without permission to ask.

_Shit. You are going to be the death of me, Steve Rogers._

Tony didn’t quite tear the towel in two the way Steve did to his pants, but it was opened and flung from the bed with quick, grunting haste, leaving him free to devour the sleek shaft that rose in salute to meet him. He swallowed Steve’s cock half down his throat, enjoying the howl of release that earned him. He was thankful Steve wasn’t hung like a horse the way Thundar was, though he would have figured out a way to deep throat even that hunk of meat if it belonged to his Steve. Fortunately, Steve was the ideal size, lean, not overly thick. Tony’s own cock was a little thicker in circumference actually, which, yeah, he was shallow enough to find pretty cool. Though the majority of his brain was concentrating on going down on Steve and making him crazy, Tony always had troubling turning off the diagnostic brain completely. He’d learned his lesson, having hurt Steve once already letting his over-analytical babble run unchecked from his big mouth. Doing it again was _unacceptable_.

But he could compartmentalize.

He wondered if Steve was well hung pre-serum, despite a smaller body type, or did the serum enhance him here as well? He suspected the former, actually, fully aware body size did not determine penis dimension. He looked forward to the day Steve would feel comfortable enough with him to handle the question so he could confirm his theory. Even without fully understanding how the serum worked, Tony had already made some deductions based on his very pleasant—albeit, too brief—hands-on research. The serum _had_ to be genetically configured not to inhibit sexual response. To make Steve impenetrable, or too powerful for intercourse, would go against the human biological imperative to procreate, and he doubted any scientist would find that an acceptable outcome for an enhanced being. Even removing procreation from the mix—though, he seriously doubted a 1940s construct would do that—sexual pleasure was still a fundamental social construct of the human condition. The desired outcome of Project Rebirth was to create enhanced _human beings_ , not machines, and interpersonal interaction—the ritual of human dynamics, which required social interaction to stave off loneliness and isolation that would threaten survival—was paramount to the human species.

He’d been fucked by Steve. If his cock had been as super as the rest of him, he would have ripped Tony into pieces, the result three times as likely if Tony had been female. No, Steve’s cock didn’t pack the power of his fist, and he doubted the walls of his ass, or prostate for that matter, were encased with steel. He suspected Steve was gay long before they shot him up with Erskine’s formula, a truth his body would have accepted even if his forties-era brain hadn’t. Therefore, his enhanced state could not block his personal biological impulses without threatening the essence of his very manhood.

At best, the serum could enhance his stamina, but Tony hadn’t completed his research on that topic yet. There was, for a sure, an emotional component. He might not have been far off when he bragged to Steve about being his _sweet spot_. _“I get to you in a way even your super serum is defenseless against.”_ As was the case with any red-blooded male, Steve’s responsiveness would be influenced by emotional chemistry with a given partner. And then there was his age. Chronically, Steve’s body had been frozen at an age when he would have been in the bloom of his sexual viability, so stamina could also be attributed to this factor, like in any other young man.

_Stark! Focus!_

If he kept up the rhythm he had going, Steve was going to come down his throat—not an unpleasant proposition, but he wasn’t certain he was ready to let Steve off the boil until he’d used the condition to full advantage first. It was difficult to shut his science brain off, even in bed, but not because he wasn’t fully invested in the activities. He simply ached to know every detail that made Steve tick, because he _had_ to give him everything. That was his own biological imperative, but he also recognized he couldn’t get lost in it. Steve’s responses to stimuli were a good communicator, and he needed to pay attention. He had to remember to be present and _feel_ , though that presented risks as well, because he loved Steve so much, he could drown there and lose sight of his responsibility to protect him and make this special.

He eased Steve’s cock out of his throat slowly, waiting until he had only the head in his mouth before shifting. Steve’s legs had been pressed between his knees, but he need more room now, so he climbed over the long legs to perch at Steve’s side. “Spread your legs,” he demanded between kisses and licks of Steve’s overripe head, seeking to soothe without putting out the flame entirely.

Steve hastened to comply, apologizing when he kicked Tony accidently in his haste, nearly sending him off the bed. “S-sorry. Sorry, Tony.”

“You’re okay. Breathe, baby.” He flattened his hand on Steve’s abdomen as he climbed back between the now wide-spread thighs. “Now raise your knees, there you go.” Tony used his other hand to guide until both of Steve legs were bent at the knees, feet flat upon the mattress, spread wide. He was not immune to the beauty of the picture presented, shivering as his own thighs started to sweat. “You know what? Might be better if you rolled onto your stomach.”

Steve made a move to turn, then froze, gnawing at his lip. “Um, I won’t be able to see you.” The idea looked to make him skittish, which was the last thing Tony wanted.

“No problem.” Tony set both hands atop Steve’s knees, then drew them down his inner thighs soothingly. “You’re good the way you are. Just relax. I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“But I want you to . . . I mean, I want. . . .” Steve sighed in frustration, eyes going up to the ceiling.

“I know what you want, no worries.” He continued to inch his hands downward, ignoring the weeping erection, pressing the bottom of his palms over the curve where ass meets thighs, fingers fanning over Steve’s balls, thumbs lightly brushing across his opening. Steve’s eyes went wide, watching him, his jaw dropping as his upper body twisted impatiently. “Wondering what it’s going to feel like?” Tony asked salaciously, skimming his opening again, feeling Steve’s twitch against his touch.

Steve nodded, agape, eyes intent on Tony’s face, not his hands.

“It’s going to feel strange. Awkward. Maybe a little uncomfortable, like something you’re not sure you should like . . . only you do.” Tony lifted one hand to his mouth, pressing his index finger between his lips, making a show of sucking, enjoying the way Steve’s flesh got hotter as he watched him. “And then,” he whispered as he drew the finger from his mouth and brought it downward. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

Using the fingers of his left hand to part Steve’s cheeks wider, he brought the dampened finger to the outer rim of his hole and painted it with moisture. Steve gasped, his face going crimson as he looked equal parts embarrassed and enthralled. “I think you like that. What do you think?”

He got another spellbound nod out of Steve as he continued to lightly tickle, ignoring his cock’s frustrated demand to hurry the hell up. Part of him did want to hurry, to be inside Steve, to drive himself in deep and never come out. But a bigger part of him wanted to revel in every second of this, watching his Steve react to each new sensation as his hunger built. He pushed inside slightly, just breaching the opening, Steve’s walls gripping him reflexively. Steve’s arms slammed back over his head, scrabbling at the sheet, the pillows, the headboard.

Steve did finally find his voice when Tony moved his hands away. “Don’t stop. Please?”

“Just repositioning,” Tony assured. “Need a better angle.” He flattened to his stomach between Steve’s legs, which had the added benefit of smothering his cock in the sheets to keep it from misbehaving. From this vantage point, he was able to suckle Steve’ balls while he continued to tease his hole, reaching up every now and again to give his cock a few slow pumps. He could tell by the jerky way Steve was writhing and his uneven breathing patterns that he was having difficulty figuring out which sensation to focus on. Tony was satisfied keeping him unbalanced for a bit longer, not wanting Steve to have time to think and grow anxious. He knew it was just as difficult to come from too much sensation as too little, and he wasn’t ready for Steve to shoot his wad yet. No, not just yet.

He scooped Steve’s balls in the palm of his hand, letting them rest there warmly while using his tongue and forefinger to glide up and down the seam, occasionally tugging lightly on the scrotum, pinching the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He focused the majority of his attention on Steve’s nads, rolling, nipping, licking, only tracing a wet finger over his hole here and there, satisfied when the surprised twitching changed to more welcoming acceptance after a time. The more he felt Steve relax into his touches, the bolder they became. Eventually, he drew his tongue slowly down and around the entire circumference of his scrotum, ending the journey by pressing his tongue flat against Steve’s opening.

 Steve rocked from the contact, letting out a questioning moan. The change was nearly imperceptible, but Tony was tuned fully to Steve’s body. Tony reminded himself, yet again, to go more slowly when introducing new sensations—and almost everything fell into that category. He returned to the tongue bath he had been giving Steve’s balls, wrapping one hand around his cock to give it a few measured pumps. Once again he used his finger to paint wet circles around the sweet pucker that was going to be his tonight, and Steve actually purred, Tony giving himself a mental fist pump at the appealing sound. He stretched his neck, licking against the base of Steve’s cock, then back around his balls. He tried once more to moisten Steve’s opening, but the moment his tongue got close, he detected the change again. Nothing overt, Steve’s legs still spread wide, his cock needy, but Tony’s _Steve Rogers Oversight Program_ was sending back negative data for sure. He tickled the underside of Steve’s balls with the tip of his tongue before whispering, “Everything okay, baby?”

“Sure, Tony.”

Steve’s tone sounded fine—maybe too fine?  A full-out _operatorerror_ message blared in Tony’s brain, insisting on further investigation. He smoothed his hand along Steve’s inner thigh. “It’s okay to say you don’t like something.”

“I’m fine.”

_Oh, hell, no._

Intel deciphered. Message received. Steve had hit the brakes on full abandon, shifting gears into _tolerant_ mode. Steve Rogers could tolerate most anything without complaint, but his stiff-upper-lip persona had no place in their bed. Tony wasn’t sure if Steve even knew he was doing it. This was one of the things he always needed to be on guard for with Steve. Putting other people’s considerations before his own was wired into his red, white, and blue DNA.

 _Tread lightly, Stark. Don’t fuck this up._ The best tack was not to make a big deal. He switched his own gears, devoting his mouth and tongue back to Steve’s balls, while he unhurriedly worked his cock. This had the desired effect, Steve’s tension easing, his moans muting back to purrs. Gradually, Tony brought his finger back into play, brushing it against Steve’s opening in the way he knew had felt good earlier. Back on course, they were progressing forward nicely, the low hum of Steve’s body communicating to Tony more delightfully than even his shaky gasps.

But then Steve went taut, and a second later he thrust his lower body hard, impaling himself to the root of Tony’s finger, lancing his unstretched, dry hole in a manner that couldn’t have been pleasurable. Tony paused, not moving, trying to get a read on whether Steve was deriving any gratification from the unexpected act. Deducing none, Tony yanked his finger back out, regretting the additional discomfort that had to cause, but this needed to stop. “Okay, whoa! Time out.”

“What?”

Tony climbed up Steve’s body, stretching out over him like a blanket, chest to chest, his hands on either side of Steve’s head to prop himself so he could gaze down into his eyes, which were brimming with guilt, shame, and confusion at the moment. “Steve, do you remember those ground rules we talked about?”

“Yes, of course. I was doing what you want, wasn’t I?”

_Steady. Breathe. Tread lightly. Do not damage him, Stark._

“What is it you think I want, sweetheart?” Tony asked softly, leaning down to place a few sweet kisses on Steve’s furrowed brow.

“You know . . . to be in me. What we both want, right?”

“Of course we want that. Just not sure we’re on the same page about the how. Feels like, all of a sudden, you’re in a hurry, and _not_ the can’t-bear-this-pleasure-another-second good kind of hurry. Am I wrong?”

Steve’s eyes darted uncomfortably back and forth, up down, everywhere but Tony’s face. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t want to mess up again. You’re trying so hard. You’re real good to me, Tony.”

“Yeah, I’m not interested in an _E_ for effort. I’m interested in giving you pleasure.”

“You were! You are!”

“Okay, baby, let’s take a deep breath here.” When Steve started to gnaw at his lip, his muscles still tight as stone beneath Tony, he insisted, “That wasn’t a metaphor. Take a long, deep breath. Do it now.” After Steve complied, Tony continued. “That’s a start. Now let’s be clear. Not liking something isn’t messing up.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“No, you didn’t _say_ that. But I’m right, aren’t I?

“You mean the thing with your tongue in my—” Steve took another deep breath, this time sucking at the air like he was trying to avoid choking. “Really, it was fine, Tony.”

“You are not allowed to lie to me anymore, especially not here.”

Steve’s hand came up, gripping the side of Tony’s face. “No, I’m not lying, Tony. I wouldn’t do that to you again. I was just—”

“Enduring?”

Steve looked mortified, completely disconcerted. Anger furiously burned within Tony, and though it wasn’t at Steve, he knew it would be perceived that way if he didn’t get a handle on it quick. He could rail at the fuckers who had damaged Steve another day. Right now, he needed to tap a different emotion. “Steve, listen to me—”

“Wait. I’m not saying this right. I’m not _enduring_ you, Tony. I love you. I want this so bad. I want to be with you. I _want_ that, more than anything. I wouldn’t be here in this bed making a fool out of myself if that wasn’t true. I wouldn’t do this just to please you. My heart is yours, for real, no lies. I want my body to be yours, too. And you’ve been incredibly loving and generous, making me feel wonderful. And you were trying to do this slowly, and some baloney in my head got in the way, so I figured I would just help you and move us along to where we both want to be. I can take it. You don’t have to go easy, really. I can handle it.”

Tony was the one taking the deep breath this time, letting it out very slowly as he chose his words carefully. He pressed his lips to Steve’s, kissing lightly before drawing back. “I love you, too. That’s what we’re doing here. Making _love_. I have no interest in testing your endurance levels or your pain tolerance or your stoicism. I’m sure you’d pass those tests with flying colors.” Tony leaned off Steve enough to reach the drawer and pull out the lube. He sat up then, straddling Steve’s waist, unconcerned with the fact both their erections had gone flaccid. Temporary setback soon to be remedied.

“Are you mad at me?” Steve asked. It stung Tony’s heart, how completely lost he looked, but he was confident in his ability to counteract the confusion and doubt and steer them back to ecstasy.

“Not even a little.” He pressed two fingers to his lips before setting them gently upon Steve’s mouth. “You are wonderful. I adore you. Soon you won’t have to worry about “handling” me. You better adjust yourself to the fact that you’re not going to be able to handle me, because you’re going to be too busy losing your mind.”

He popped the lid of the tube open with his thumb, Steve’s eyes riveted to him as he brought it down to his chest, squeezing out a drop of gel atop each flawless nipple. Steve gasped at the unexpected sensation.

“Tony, wha—”

“Shhh, no more talking.” He set the lube down upon Steve’s breastbone. “We’ve done enough talking. You’re allowed to tell me what you like . . . what you don’t like. You can tell me how much you love me. But that’s it. I’m going to do the rest of the talking, here. And you’re going to listen.” He pressed one index finger into each nipple, making circles in the cool gel. “Do you understand, Steven?”

Steve’s chest had already arched toward his touch as he nodded. “Yes. Ground rules, right?”

“Smart boy.” Tony left the nipples to cool while he wrapped his fingers around both of Steve’s wrists. “If you feel me trying to move any part of your body in a particular direction, you don’t resist me, understand?” Steve nodded, putting up no resistance when Tony lifted his arms and laid them back upon the pillows on either side of his head. “There you go. See how easy this is.” Tony stroked his fingers through the sparse hair under Steve’s arms, aware this was an erogenous zone. “It has to be a little disconcerting, having no idea what you’re in for, but baby, I can guarantee you it’s going to feel a helluva lot better than the dry hump act you just pulled on my finger.”

Steve’s eyes drew downward bashfully, but Tony didn’t allow even a moment for self-reproach. Continuing his teasing caress of one armpit, he used his other hand to slip under Steve’s chin, lifting it to make sure he had his full attention. “I know you love me, sweetheart. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve responded with earnest devotion that felt like a kiss upon Tony’s heart.

“You want me with all your heart, a notion your head concurs with, which is an amazing thing. But your body needs to want me, too. And it will, as long as you give me a chance to do this right. Hell, you don’t need to give me anything, because I _am_ going to do this right. Your job is to let me work my magic.”

Tony brought both hands back to Steve’s nipples, his hot touch pressing against the cool wetness, eliciting both shiver and burn. “I’m not going to need to shove up in there just to get us together. And you sure as hell don’t have to rely on ‘grin and bear it’ mode to get what you want . . . what you _need_.” Steve’s cock was behind Tony’s backside, already poking him with renewed life. Rolling Steve’s nipples until he twisted wantonly, Tony continued. “Your body is going to open to me out of longing, not expediency. When I’m done, your body is going to _beg_ me to come inside. You’re going to feel a hunger deep within you like nothing you’ve ever known.” He let one nipple go so he could reach behind himself and wrap his fingers around Steve’s cock. “And the only thing that’s ever going to be able to sate that hunger is me.”

“I . . . I want that,” Steve murmured, his head lolling back and forth on the pillow, all traces of discomfort and worry wiped from his features. He looked utterly exquisite and Tony wanted to devour him. Pushing the tube to the side, he fell upon Steve’s glistening chest, pressing the full of his weight into him as he took that mouth with ferocity. He kissed with a fervor that was met and matched, his fingers digging into Steve’s scalp to draw them closer still. He sensed Steve’s hands rising and falling against the pillow beside his head, wrestling with the need to touch Tony versus the directive not to move unless told. Reducing Steve Rogers to this level of capitulation with the sheer force of his words and his will was a heady rush, a power he wouldn’t trifle with, but had every intention of enjoying the hell out of.

“Need something to do with those hands, big boy?” he asked wickedly against the shell of Steve’s ear before nibbling it.

“Whatever you want,” Steve growled, struggling to turn his head enough to latch on to Tony’s throat with his teeth. Tony craned his neck for better access, savoring this particular sensation for a few breathless moments while Steve feasted on him. He would get off on looking at those badges of honor tomorrow.

Slowly, he got his head back in the game, not losing sight of the bigger payoff. With effort, he managed to untangle himself from Steve’s luscious body and avid mouth. He snagged the lube as he rolled off, coming to rest on his knees beside Steve.

“You said I should say when I don’t like something,” Steve complained, his fingers curling into tight fists, which looked necessary to keep himself from dragging Tony back.

“You’re being such a good boy,” Tony was quick to praise, no desire to get Steve tangled in any more mixed-up musings. “Give me sixty seconds to change your mind, and if you still don’t like it, we go back to what we were doing.”

Steve gave him a lopsided grin. “Your show. M’just following the ground rules.”

“Well, aren’t you a good soldier?” Tony grinned too. “Open your legs and bend your knees again.”

“Yes, sir, Mister Stark, sir,” Steve teased, quickly complying.

“Watch out. I might get used to that. Give me your hands.” Steve extended his arms as Tony got between his legs. “Slide them behind your knees.” Tony licked his lips as he watched Steve do what he asked. “Now, since you’re so keen on showing off your endurance, let’s see how long you can hold this position.” Tony pushed Steve’s knees back to his chest, guiding his hands to hold them there. He needed to pinch his own balls to keep from shooting all over that sexy sight as he popped the cap on the lube again.

A trace of unease shadowed Steve’s features, which wasn’t surprising considering the brazen position Tony has just talked him into. “I . . . I think. . . .”

“I’ve got forty seconds left, baby-blue. I’m keeping track, promise.”

Steve sighed, locking eyes with Tony. “I trust you.”

“And I trust you to keep your promise,” Tony reminded as he slathered his fingers. “Thirty seconds from now, if you still don’t like what I’m doing, or feel uncomfortable in any way, just tap me on the head. You don’t even have to say anything.”

Steve nodded, looking abashed but titillated, which was a good thing. Time was Tony’s enemy. He couldn’t allow enough of it to pass without giving Steve something to focus on besides how awkward he felt positioned like that or how worried he was about messing up again. And the very last thing Tony wanted to feel coming off Steve was stalwart indulgence, so he needed to make this count.

He had about twenty seconds left when he palmed Steve’s balls in his slicked fist and went down on the head of his cock, tonguing his slit. When Steve jerked from the dual sensation, reflexively yanking his knees further back, Tony let his middle finger slide against his hole, while continuing to roll his balls between thumb and pinky. Twenty seconds came and went . . . thirty . . . forty. Not only was Steve not letting go of his knees to tap Tony’s head, but his fingers were digging deeper into his own flesh to pull his legs back wider. Tony blew warm air over the now moist head of Steve’s cock, _Mmmming_ his approval.

“Close your gorgeous baby blue eyes for me,” Tony whispered before running his tongue up and down the length of Steve’s shaft. He sensed Steve would have a better chance of relaxing fully into this if he focused just on sensation, and not worry about what he looked like or what Tony was doing. After taking a quick peek to insure Steve had complied—those long, dark lashes falling closed, nearly brushing his flushed cheeks—Tony refocused his attention on laving Steve’s cock and kneading his balls with his oiled fingers. Occasionally, he let the tip of his finger brush Steve’s pucker, just a hint, a taste, nothing rushed.

He focused on what was familiar at first—well, familiar to Steve whose sum total of sexual experience had been at Tony’s hand. Okay, yeah, that was still a combustible thought. “… _Because you’re not supposed to know anything about this that I don’t teach you.”_ Had he actually said that out loud? Then again, they had already established he was shameless. The thing was, Steve was more intoxicating than any booze Tony had ever swallowed, and the buzz was a hundred times more potent. Still, he was confident now he could do this because the biggest buzz of all was disassembling Steve and putting him back together piece by delicious piece, filling every fiber of him with love and pleasure. This was a project Tony could get behind with not just his brain, but his heart and soul.

In between the devoted attention he was paying to Steve’s cock and balls, he interjected more exotic touches, but always intermingling, giving him a chance to get accustomed to the unfamiliar sensations before adding more. Each time he did brush a finger over Steve’s opening, the pucker grew less timid. _That’s it, baby. Let it feel good._ _Got plenty more for you where that came from._  

He considered whispering the words aloud as he continued to lick his way up and down Steve’s shaft, but he was aware his smack talk held an almost super-power over Steve and he had to use it prudently. His goal at the moment was to keep him titillated, but not overwhelmed, allowing Steve to relax and open himself into the pleasure Tony needed to bestow. There would be plenty of time later for wild and crazy. _Bet on it._

When Tony felt certain Steve could handle it, he lubed his fingers again, pressing only the soft pads of two fingertips upon the tender tissue between his anus and scrotum. He made certain the first stroke was well oiled and feather-light. Even still, Steve’s butt practically lifted off the bed, his moan sputtering. Tony flattened his left hand on the innermost portion of Steve’ thigh, easing him back towards the mattress while teasing his tongue around the rolled foreskin of his cock. He left the two fingers of his right hand on the rope-like line of nerves along Steve’s P-spot, running them slowly upward towards his balls, then back downward again, not touching his opening at all with this pass.

The fire coming off Steve’s flesh was enough to roast a wiener, which made sense considering the millions of nerve endings in this highly sensitive spot, often referred to as the ‘no man’s land’ of the male body, though he doubted Steve was familiar with the term—or the reward he’d receive if he could relax enough to allow Tony to give proper attention to this area that served as a hub for all his sexual apparatus.

Leaning back, he took his mouth out of the equation for a while, needing to watch Steve’s body and facial expressions as he continued, slowly stropping Steve’s cock in his left palm while experimenting to discover which type of strokes over his perineum yielded the best outcome. Personally, he preferred circular motions, but it was looking like Steve reacted best to long, slow, vertical caresses interspersed with a little side-to-side action at the very center point of the rope of nerves.

Steve’s face was glistening with sweat, flushed with a healthy, strapping hue that did Tony’s heart good to witness after the endless days of sickly pale. His lips remained mostly parted, his tongue occasionally sliding between them when his mouth wasn’t busy moaning or gasping, his breathing flipping back and forth between deep inhalations of satisfaction and quick, uneven huffs. Different levels of wonderment passed across his features, Tony reading everything from bliss, to confusion, to deep arousal, lashes often fluttering but remaining closed as Tony had asked. The only trace of apprehension Tony was able to detect came when he felt Steve’s cock softening some in his grasp.

“Tony? I didn’t mean to . . . I don’t know. . . .”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Totally natural.” Tony gave himself an inward fist-pump, stoked for having been able to bring Steve to this degree of stimulation/relaxation the first time trying this, though Steve really deserved most of the credit for being so trusting and receptive. He massaged the now spongy head of Steve’s cock, rubbing the lube all around it to insure the sensation remained gratifying. “Think of it like riding a wave, baby. Each time the wave swells, it’ll feel more intense.”

“But you?”

“Riding right along with you, promise. Feels pretty amazing.”

“Sure I shouldn’t be . . . _doing_ something?”

“You’re doing it, baby.” Steve was always about doing. He gave it all for his country, his city, his friends, and anyone he came in contact with that needed, but he’d received precious little in this life for himself. He gave everything without hesitation. To be able to teach him how to relax and truly _receive_ some of the pleasure and gratification he deserved was a privilege. “If you really want to do something, take some long, deep breaths. If there’s any noise in your mind, shut it off. I’ve got you.”

He watched Steve’s broad chest expand and contract, breathing as Tony had asked. His breathing slowed some after that, Tony releasing his cock for a while, usinghis left hand to rub along the underside of Steve’s thighs, his cheeks, over his belly, all the while tickling soothingly over the P-spot region. He could feel the blood flow increase beneath his fingers tips as the sensations spread. Eventually, Steve’s cock filled again, but he didn’t touch it right away, instead letting his fingertips brush over the scrotum and then circle his opening. He could feel Steve’s body pulling at his finger this time, an awakening hunger that shot thorough Tony so powerfully, his own cock resurged with a harsh burn.

He should have resisted the temptation, drawing this out more, but instead his finger was breaching the unresisting pucker and slipping inside, Steve letting out a groan of satisfaction that echoed through Tony like a chorus of yeses. Tony’s brain was screaming a few yeses of his own, sliding unimpeded to the knuckle, being the only person EVER to stake claim on this territory. He half wanted to plant a flag with the word STARK emblazed in big, Iron Man red letters—imagine what the hell it was going to feel like when it was his cock in there?

_Come on, Stark. Focus. Focus. Focus!_

Steve’s walls constricted possessively around him, making it impossible to move forward or back without making this unpleasant, so he maintained his position while continuing his slick massage. He pressed his index finger to the opening, brushing the edge of where his inserted finger met Steve’s body then caressed slowly upward, over the twitching rope of nerves between anus and balls, through the center point of Steve’s heavy nads, then up the underside of his cock, tracing the vein until he reached the head, fingers circling then tickling through the dew forming at the tip. Steve’s cock and balls were coated in lube at this point, so every place he touched for sure felt even more maddening, a point brought home by the way Steve twisted, his head thrashing against the pillows.

“Tony. . . .”

“Right here, baby.”

“I _feel_ you.”

“I feel you, too,” Tony grinned, wrapping his fist around Steve’s cock and starting to pump with intent. He decided to employ the quickest technique for getting Steve’s stranglehold to ease, having full confidence in his lover’s ability to rebound. “You’re going to feel a lot more of me very soon,” he promised, increasing the pressure on the head of Steve’s cock, feeling him close.

“But wait. What. Why?” Steve’s hold under his knees slipped, his feet hitting the mattress as his body thrust up into Tony’s fist. “You’re going to make me—”

“That’s right. I’m going to _make_ you come. For me. Because I want you to. You’re going to do what I want, aren’t you, Steven?”

“Yes!” Steve cried as he shattered, his cock exploding in Tony’s hand. Tony got his thumb turned enough to push on Steve’s perineum, increasing the sensation, his index finger riding out the paroxysm of waves from within Steve’s body. Steve came long and  hard, his upper body coming off the mattress twice, then collapsing, lower body thrusting in continuous spasms. It was an amazing sight, one that fed Tony’s already burning hunger, but he knew he needed to be careful:Wasn’t just cream pouring out of Steve—had to feel like his heart, his soul, his very being were shooting out through his cock, leaving him open in a way he’d never been. Tony’s job was to keep him safe in that all too-open place while driving him to greater heights, the kind of high they were only going to reach together.

“Hey, baby-blue, you still with me?” he called softly as Steve’s body finally began to calm. He gently worked his finger out of the now lax opening, a move Steve wasn’t keen on.

“Tony, no,” he whimpered, still huffing, his fingers scratching at the sheets as he started to shiver.

“Keep trusting me, sweetheart. You’re doing great. I won’t let you down.” Tony kept talking as he sprinted off the bed, snatched the security-towel from the floor, dumped some of the water from the bottle on the nightstand into it, then began using it to quickly clean rivulets of cream off his and Steve’s flesh. Steve flinched and twitched, his body still super sensitized. “You are the most incredibly beautiful thing I have ever seen, do you know that? You’re glowing right now. I am so hot for you, Steve Rogers. We’re not done. Don’t think for a second we’re done. Think of this more like a brief intermission between acts of a really great show.”

“Intermission?” Steve face twisted in confusion, though given the condition he was in, he was doing pretty good to understand words at all. His eyes were glassy and filled with devotion as he opened them to look at Tony with a winsome grin. “You need to come back to bed and be my Tony-bear _and_ my Tony-blanket. I’m starting to get cold.”

“Not for long,” Tony promised, finishing up his task before dropping the towel and climbing upon Steve, knowing his own body was hot as an electric blanket. Steve’s arms immediately wrapped around him, bringing him closer, clinging, his fingers burying into Tony’s hair to align their mouths. Steve’s kiss held more need than strength, which was fine. Tony had enough wattage on his end to ignite them both. Steve did his best to keep up with Tony’s spirited kisses, but when Tony began grinding his cock into Steve’s hip, he slipped his fingers between their lips to force a time-out.

“Sweetie, I adore you, but after what you just did to me, not sure I’m going to be able to match your”—he nudged Tony’s hard-on—“enthusiasm for a while.”

“Irrelevant.” Tony grinned, giving Steve’s nose a quick bite before he began to slide down his body, taking a second to nip at overly sensitive nipples, waiting for the expected yelp before explaining, “I don’t need you to have a boner. What I need is what you have.” He pushed Steve’s legs open, situating himself comfortably between them as he retrieved the tube that had gotten tangled in the sheets. “A pliant body ready to yield for me.” He placedthe cup of his palm possessively over Steve’s lax groin, pressingjust enough to get his attention. Steve looked startled by his own reaction, eyes going wide as his well-used genitals stirred beneath Tony’s exacting touch.

“Looks like there’s more life left in there than you thought,” Tony teased. “But, like I said. Irrelevant. For now. Spread these sexy thighs of yours nice and wide for me, baby. Let me teach you what you’re capable of.”

Steve stared mutely at Tony, positioning his legs in the manner Tony’s hands guided them, knees bent, pointed skyward, wide apart. He still looked boneless, but not so far gone that the spark of desire didn’t light up his eyes. He watched, seemingly intrigued, as Tony lubed up his fingers again before bringing them to his exposed entryway. He parted Steve with a coated thumb and forefinger, holding him open to allow his right index finger to slide back within him, Steve’s now relaxed inner walls allowing full entry.

Steve sucked in a rush of air, neck craning as his eyes shot to the ceiling. Tony rolled his finger in a slick circle within before drawing it back out slowly, then entering again. Whatever chill Steve had been feeling after his tremendous outlay was quickly being warmed by the rush of blood Tony could feel coursing through him. Tony realized it wasn’t going to be difficult to stretch him properly, Steve a more than willing participant despite just having his soul pumped out through his cock. Still, Tony didn’t want to hurry this too much. He relished introducing Steve to the mysteries of his own body, watching his face react to each touch, learning his body in a way no one else was privy to. _No one is ever going to know you like this . . . not if I can help it. You’re mine, Steve Rogers._

When Tony worked a second finger in alongside the first, Steve handled it with ease, caught between complete relaxation and a low hum of arousal if Tony was judging correctly . . . and he knew he was, the _Steve Rogers Oversight Program_ was online and functioning at peak capacity. Learning Steve was his priority project, for now and the foreseeable future, and he planned to use every micron of his intellect, his instinct, and his intuition to compile as much usable data as possible.

He wasn’t going for anything fancy yet, just working his fingers in, spreading them, rolling them, drawing back out before repeating. After a time, he painted some gel lines along the p-spot, barely touching the rope-like muscle, aware Steve could still be tender here from earlier, though the contact didn’t look to disturb his buzz. In fact, Steve looked as content as a puppy getting a good belly rub, which was delightful. His cock was still sleeping, tucked within the blanket of foreskin, resting against the soft pillow of testicles. Tony’s own cock stayed revved and ready, the only relief he got was when it deflated to half-hard occasionally, but he loved riding the wave, letting the anticipation build, looking forward to a spectacular reward for his awesome endurance.

By the time he got around to introducing the third finger, Steve’s cock showed signs of life, poking through his foreskin to query whether this was a party worth joining. Tony decided to assist in the decision making process by locating the round inner bulb he had, until now, intentionally avoided, brushing one well-coated finger over the hot-spot, then leaning back to wait for the fireworks.

_Houston, we have lift-off._

The sound that came out of Steve as he surged upward, his back coming completely off the mattress, was a cross between a choke and moan. Tony waited for him to regain his breath and collapse downward before he gave the button another brief tickle. Steve’s gasp was deeper this time, and Tony’s name was floating atop it.

“Feel good, baby?”

“I . . . yeah . . . I think . . . _ohhhhh_.”

Tony resumed his slow, three-finger-fuck, giving Steve a minute to adjust before he came tapping again. This time he moved his forefinger in a ‘come here’ motion over the nub, and Steve’s feet lifted from the mattress and kicked outward, his body twisting at the waist before landing back where he started.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered, breathlessly.

“Saying hello to your love knot.”

“M’wha?”

“It’s a special device inserted inside you when you were genetically altered that can only be controlled by me . . . nah, I’m just messing with you.” Tony grinned. “I am wickedly stoked by the idea of that, though.”

Steve was grinning, too, as he looked into Tony’s eyes. “Works for me.”

And NOW Tony’s cock was a fucking steel rod, harder than Thor’s hammer.

“Ah, I keep telling you to be careful how much power you give me, baby-blue. I have an addictive personality and I’m already obsessed with you.”

“Feels like half your hand is already inside me. Might be a little late to negotiate power pacts.” Steve squeezed his inner muscles, bearing down on Tony’s fingers, causing them both to gasp simultaneously. “Think we’re good.”

“Meaning you like?” Tony asked saucily, giving Steve’s button another rub. Steve’s head bent back, his body quivering around Tony’s fingers.

“Prostate, right?” he asked unevenly, a few of his brain cells apparently returning.

“Very good, Steven. You get to move to the head of the class. But biological and intellectual understanding doesn’t quite prepare you for hands-on practice, huh?”

“Not even . . . close, _ohhh_ , cutie, you’re killing me.”

“ _Mmmm_ , then I better breathe more life back in you, huh?” Tony shoved his fingers inside Steve, making certain to brush his prostate while at the same time pressing the pad of one finger into the perineum. That maneuver earned him a full howl, and pumped enough blood back to Steve’s cock that it began a wobbly rise from its nesting place. Tony rose up on his knees, able to keep the assortment of stimulation going with both hands even as he gave his own cock a little breathing room, but it was getting harder to maintain his coordination. Again, he was caught between the desire to draw this out, amassing more knowledge on Steve’s preferences, and his own throbbing hunger that he wasn’t sure he could contain much longer.

“Tony, please,” Steve pled, casting his vote, pulling his legs impossibly far apart as his body dragged Tony’s fingers deeper.

_“When I’m done, your body is going to beg me to come inside.”_

_Mission accomplished._

“Tell me what you need, baby.” Tony was shamelessly pleading, too. He had to hear it. He needed the words.

“I need _you_.” Steve did a modified sit-up, reaching for Tony’s bicep, fingers digging into his flesh. “ _Fuck_ me, Tony.” Not the exact words Tony was expecting, but very fucking effective. Apparently, he’d managed to unearth Captain America’s shameless side.

“Oh, fuck, yeah! Shit, be careful wielding the smut talk. I’m gonna lose it before I get in there if you keep talking like that, jeezus. Lie down, lie down. Throw me some of those pillows.” Tony started to ease his hand out of Steve’s body while Steve fell flat, yanking pillows and tossing them toward Tony.

“Hurry up,” Steve whined when Tony had completely disconnected them.

“Working on it. Raise up.” Steve lifted his gorgeous ass off the bed, enough for Tony to shove the pillows beneath him, eager to get the best angle. “Good, good. Open your legs more,” he demanded as he squeezed out a huge gob of lube and worked it over his cock. “Oh Christ!” he balked when the cool gel made contact with his burning rod. For a second, his brain short-circuited at the idea of _really_ doing this without a rubber. “You’re sure, right?” he had to ask. “You don’t want the bag?”

“Tony!” Steve demanded, cupping his palms around his knees and hauling his legs back. “Now!” The sharp desperation in his tone and the irresistible sight he presented shook Tony out of his head and back into his body.

Or, more precisely, into his cock—which was screaming at him, too.

He wrapped his right fist around the base of his cock, aiming for the target, while he grabbed the lube with the left and squirted it over Steve’s hole and surrounding real estate. “I’ve got you, baby, he whispered gruffly, his emotions clogging his throat. “Look at me.”

Steve’s eyes riveted to his, the light of the arc reactor bathing his glistening, nude flesh in a soft blue hue. Certain he had never wanted anything more in his entire life, Tony sank the head of his cock into the opening of Steve’s body. For a minute it all felt surreal. How the hell was he here, in this moment? He was Tony Stark. He didn’t get moments like this . . . moments this utterly perfect. This was Steve Rogers—patriot, hero, super soldier, living legend who lived up to the legend, surpassed it even. A man as close to perfect as Tony was ever likely to meet, and yet utterly, delightfully imperfect as well.

_And absolutely perfect for me. Who’da thunk?_

“I love you,” he whispered as he sankinto walls that embraced him in burning need even as they tightened with trepidation. Steve’s cock was still flagging, which was expected, having never reached full tumescence, and now he had a shitload of new sensations coming at him. But his eyes were clear blue windows into his heart, beseeching Tony to keep going. In fact, Steve’s need felt almost more powerful than his own.

Tony’s chest tightened even as his blood pulsed loud enough to drown out the music. He steadied himself, pushing deeper, fighting to hold on to the thread of self-control remaining, but this was _Steve_ he was feeling around his cock, flesh to flesh, no barrier. He couldn’t allow himself to fixate on the thought or he was going to blow his wad before he passed the halfway point. His pecker was already doing the shimmy-shake, stoked by getting to ride raw, eager to bust a move in this uncharted territory.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed, needing Steve’s help if they were going to reach the full connection they both craved.

Steve nodded, sweat beading on his forehead, his lips pursed to pale. He tilted his head back and took several long, deep breadths. Tony had gained enough real estate to be able to release his grip on his cock, using both his hands to cover Steve’s upon his knees. “Good job. We’re almost there. You okay?”

“I am . . . I just . . . m’not doing that . . . don’t know why it’s clenching.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a good thing. Feels pretty fucking amazing, actually.”

“Really?” Steve sounded relieved, managing a smile when he caught sight of Tony’s heated grin.

“Yeah,” he nodded, not stifling the moan that came up from deep within.

“Feels different than I expected.”

“Good or bad?”

“Um, both I think. No. I don’t mean like pain.”

“Don’t pull the tough guy shit, Steven. You promised.”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “Not explaining right. I don’t mean hurt like enduring pain. I mean, like a burn I want more than anything. Because it’s you. This make any sense? I want to _know_ you’re in there. I don’t want it easy.” He sighed, frustrated. “Maybe I should stop talking.”

“Baby, you talk. Or don’t. Scream. Or don’t. Whatever. I want it all. Oh, Christ, Steve, you’re killing me, you feel so fucking amazing. I gotta push!”

“Me too!”

They both surged, the sparks between their bodies so intense Tony half expected to see firecrackers burst between them. Tony was about two-thirds home, his body screaming for completion. He squeezed Steve’s hands, struggling for control, but Steve wasn’t interested in Tony locating the breaks.

“Make me yours, Tony. M’gonna die if you don’t. Never felt . . . never . . . like this. Only for you.”

“You _are_ mine,” Tony growled, a fiery need to possess burning up from a depth he’d never tapped, inciting a hunger he didn’t control. His hips jutted forward of their own volition, shoving the rest of the way, planting him balls-deep. Steve opened for him, molding around him, sealing them in a manner predestined. Steve was born to be his. He was built to be Steve’s. He shoved Steve’s hands from his knees, demanding, “Wrap your legs around me.”

Steve’s arms dropped, and then he flung them over his head as his thighs pressed into Tony’s sides, ankles locking behind his back. Tony fell forward, punching his fists into the pillow on either side of Steve’s hips. Fingers fanning out, his slid them under Steve’s ass, cupping that delicious rump and tugging upward. Steve’s head craned on the pillow, back arching to assist, lifting his ass for Tony’s hands, impaling himself deeper on Tony’s cock.

“Yeah, that’s right. You gimme that sweet virgin ass of yours. You feel that?” He reared back and thrust, setting off a pulse that shook Steve’s walls, shot up Tony’s cock, and landed in his gut. “You’ve got all of me, baby. Can you handle that?” Steve’s arm fell over his face, fingers knotting in his hair. Tony could see—could feel—the shudders coursing the length of Steve’s body, but his chest was barely moving. “You gotta breathe, Steven.”

“Right.” Steve sucked in a gulp of air.

“Move your arm. I need to see your face.”

Steve lifted his arm, revealing an expression that was completely overwhelmed, but nothing there read discomfort. Satisfied, Tony began moving his hips, searching for a rhythm that would work for them both. He managed to inch his knees closer to Steve’s rear, using the top of his thighs to prop Steve’s ass higher, freeing his hands, which he used to take hold of the muscled hips. The slight change in angle allowed him to slide deeper still, and he felt the moment when the tip of his cock brushed Steve’s button. Steve’s moan was the most prurient sound he’d ever heard his lover make, and he had heard Steve make quiet a collection of love noises. The subsequent squeezing on Tony’s cock ripped a few obscene noises from him as well, his fingers digging so hard into the flesh of Steve’s hips he hit bone.

“Tony, please, please, please,” Steve was muttering wildly, his head thrashing back and forth upon the pillow—the same pillow he had lain deathly still upon only two nights ago. Everything inside Tony clenched and, for a second, he couldn’t breathe. _No! Steve’s not allowed to die. I’m not letting anything try to take him from me ever again. He’s mine! Mine, mine, mine!_

Tony drilled into the warm, living, breathing body beneath his, needing to cleanse the horrific images from his brain, desperate to fill Steve with as much love and pleasure and life as he was capable of giving. They were together now—together—connected—bound—sealed. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Fill you so deep, so full of my cream, and it’ll be more powerful than any moonshine or serum or anything else. You’ll feel me inside you every single day from now til’ forever, marking you as mine.”

“Yours, Tony.” Steve’s fingers wrapped round Tony’s wrist, “Don’t let go.”

“That’s it, hold on to me. Open yourself wider and let me in deep, because I’m not letting go of you. Not ever.” _My sweet Steve_. _Everything and everybody has let you go . . . let you down. Not this time. Nope. Just try to shake me loose._ “Even you’re not strong enough to shake me loose, baby-blue.”

“Don’t want to be loose. Do it harder, Tony. Please.”

Tony considered his knack for raunchy talk his trump card with Steve, picking up pretty quick on how easily it reduced his modest man to mush, but he was fast realizing the power Steve’s sincere, shy, bed-talk had over him. Maybe because he knew Steve had never spokenthis way to anyone else—never would. Yeah, it was only for him, and that pinged his balls for sure, but there was more. The guts it took for someone like Steve to bear his most private longings aloud—the notion blew Tony’s mind a little, especially considering _he_ was the one being trusted this intimately. There was a time something like that would have scared the shit out of him. Okay, maybe it still did a little. Seriously, how did Steve trust anybody or anything, let alone a screw-up like Tony Stark?

Steve was invisible a big chunk of his life, assholes overlooking and undervaluing him. Bullies, starting with his own dad, tried to beat the spirit out of him. His mom, along with Erskine and Saint Bucky, up and died on him. And hell, good ole Howard Stark couldn’t even manage to use his mega-brain and resources to rescue his revered hero from a decades-long icy hell. Yet here Steve was, a guy barely out of impoverished boyhood when he was experimented on and used as a weapon, then left forgotten until he was plucked from his time and thrust into an unfamiliar world whose warm fuzzy greeting was to thrust him into service again as Captain America: A brand, a commodity, a guardian, a tool.

Beneath all that bullshit beat the untarnished heart of a truly virtuous man, brave and strong in ways that had little to do with body mass, possessing a vulnerable soul that, by all rights, he should have been protecting, but instead chose to place it willingly into Tony’s hands.

“I got you, baby. Gonna give you what you need,” Tony promised as yet another of his inner barriers shattered, reduced to rubble the way many of his inner walls had been since meeting Steve Rogers. One by one, they had been collapsing, breaking Tony down while, at the same time, rebuilding him. He truly hoped the new model would be an improvement.

Tony drove deep into Steve’s body, thrusting with intent, making sure Steve could feel him in every fiber of his body and soul, striving to fill every last lonely crevice that had ever existed within this man he loved.

“ _Yes, yes_ ,” Steve hissed, one fist pounding into the mattress, his other hand still wrapped around Tony’s wrist. Tony felt Steve’s ankle grip slip, his legs starting to slide down Tony’s back. Steve managed to catch his right calf on Tony’s hip as Tony hauled his left leg up and over his shoulder, pushing forward even more. Steve didn’t resist, his body balancing now on shoulders and neck, his lower body completely off the mattress, arched upward to meet every single thrust of Tony’s cock. Tony shook Steve’s grip off his wrist so he could interlock their fingers and hold his hand, Steve squeezing back appreciatively at the contact. Tony had to marvel at the guy’s discipline, not even close to crushing Tony’s fingers despite what felt like pretty wild abandon. Steve’s cock was thick, stiff, and leaking now, but Tony hesitated to take hold of it. He wasn’t sure Steve would be able to handle the additional stimulus without popping his load and Tony was certain he’d bust a nut if Steve’s walls started contracting around him as they rippled through an orgasm.

And right now, he wasn’t ready for the party to be over.

Instead, he slowed his thrusts, dragging out all but the head of his cock before sinking in again, poking Steve’s button upon re-entry, tearing the most delicious moans from Steve’s throat. There was a part of him that never wanted to stop fucking Steve, and it wasn’t the salacious part. Okay, maybe it was that part, but another part, too, the one that had Steve safe, and elated, and filled with his love and never wanted to give that up. He plunged deep enough to feel his balls slapping into Steve’s ass cheeks each time he brought them together. Steve’s channel hugged him like a glove designed to fit him precisely and the heat in there scaldedhis dick. The slower pace made Steve crazier, his whole body shuddering, the vibrations flowing through Tony’s cock, traveling in waves throughout his body, waves they were riding together. He felt sure Steve was feeling his pleasure as deeply as he felt Steve’s. This level of connection was something Tony had never experienced in all his years of screwing, always considering the idea to be sappy fantasy perpetuated by writers of romance novels and lifestyle magazines. But this coalescence of body, mind, spirit, heart, soul—all being sealed by the same steamy physical act—was pretty fucking amazing.

Steve was pretty fucking amazing.

Tony felt pretty fucking amazing.

Like being high without booze or chemical assistance—though his body chemistry was partying pretty hearty, places buzzing inside he never knew could buzz. He wished he had the stamina to do this all night, but his balls were already heavy as grapefruits, complaining about being denied so long.

“Tony?”

Steve’s free hand was reaching toward him, his eyes swimming with damp emotion, his face more beautiful than anything ever. Tony buried himself within Steve, pressing forward, mashing the leg hooked over his shoulder to Steve’s chest to get closer. If Steve was uncomfortable with the twisted position, he didn’t show it, looking instead grateful to be able to slide his fingers against Tony’s cheek, his thumb caressing circles over Tony’s lips.

“I’m yours, Tony, you know that, right?”

“Damn right.” He darted his tongue over Steve’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth.

“Thank you . . . for loving me.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony murmured around the pad of Steve’s thumb before setting it free. He could feel Steve’s fingers trembling against his cheek, knew his own were equally unsteady around Steve’s hip. “Thanks for sticking around long enough for me to find you.”

Steve’s face broke into a wondrous grin, his eyes shining. “Being frozen for seventy years doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Got me here.”

“Where you belong.”

“With you. Always.”

_Always and forever, baby-blue!_

Steve’s fingers found their way into his hair, tugging until Tony pressed closer still, essentially folding Steve in half to reach his mouth. He released his hold on Steve’s hip and hand in order to support himself, fists pressed into the mattress on either side of Steve’s head as his lips chased Steve’s, catching and latching onto them in a kiss that opened a circuit in Tony’s mind: He could feel Steve’s heartbeat with his own, a thundering, shuddering tempo that built and built, calling to Tony’s body to match the rhythm. Tony’s cock, already impossibly hard, surged with added blood, filling Steve’s tight channel that last little bit. Tony anticipated the shocked gasp before it crossed Steve’s lips, drinking it into himself as he pushed forward with all his weight, knowing, in his mind and his soul, that nothing he did right now could hurt his love, so twined were they in body and spirit.

Steve’s mouth tore from Tony’s as he groaned, “Harder.” The fingers still scrabbling in his hair yanked, causing Tony’s neck to crane back before those same fingers blazed down his neck, leaving a trail of heat lightning in their wake, then digging into his flesh. “Give me all you got!”

Permission given, Tony began to fuck in earnest—to saw in and out of Steve’s tight hole, like he was drilling for oil. He pounded his pelvis into the muscled cushion of his lover’s ass. Steve’s body arched more sharply, and Tony could feel the head of his cock pounding the slick hub of nerves deep within his lover’s body. The sounds escaping Steve’s lips—broken, transcendent, fervent—were devoured by Tony, before being returned tenfold.

“Too rough?” The words were gasped, smothered, but Tony had to say them. Had to be sure.

“No—don’t stop!” Steve begged. “Please, fuck me, fuck me.”

The sweet sound of Steve’s need, carried by the bawdy language Steve reserved only for him, inspired greater effort on Tony’s part. His hips pistoned—he really was an iron man—he could do this forever. He could happily die riding his man to orgasm. The slap-slap of his nads was quickly lost as the heavy orbs began to tighten impossibly harder and lift, crawling closer to his cock, readying their load. The heel of Steve’s free leg skittered across Tony’s hip, before laddering up his lower spine and wrapping once more around his waist, locking them together, and still Tony’s cock sought to drill deeper, battering that deep-seated organ of delight.

“There! Right there!” Steve wailed, fist pounding into the sheets, tearing the fabric. Tony could only pull but so far back, so tightly was he embraced by Steve’s leg. He ground his hips into Steve’s ass with all his might, lifting his entire body until Steve was practically balancing on his head. Steve greedily bore the impact of every one of Tony’s wild thrusts, his body shamelessly begging for more still—and then Tony felt it: The walls of Steve’s inner channel began to tighten and striate desperately, to massage Tony’s cock from root to tip, as though Steve’s ass needed to consume the shaft that so lovingly ravaged it.

And still Tony held on.

But it was his turn to beg.

“Come for me, baby—please come for me. Gotta feel you. Please!”

“Yes,” Steve mewled. “For you.”

“For me, baby,” Tony said, even as he shifted his weight to his left hand, and wrapped his right around Steve’s weeping shaft. “For both of us.”

Tony’s fingers barely grazed Steve’s cock, and then his love was coming, fiercely, majestically, his features simultaneously transcendent and tortured. Those blue eyes opened long enough to lock with Tony’s, windows to every secret in Steve’s soul laid bare for him. That look was all it took—that and the delightfully clenching ass milking his cock—and Tony started to come, his cock bucking in delight. Steve’s body locked down tight on Tony’s rod, keeping him close, so close, so tight, so fine, and Tony could _feel_ Steve’s heartbeat from within. His cock trembled and spurted and sought to go deeper still, filling his love with the essence of Tony Stark, marking him, remaking Steve undeniably into his and his alone. The growling gasp torn from the pit of Tony’s being was primal, unanticipated, revealing things about himself he hadn’t known were possible before taking this beautiful, _good_ , man and making him his own, now and forever, because now he couldn’t imagine a universe, world, single cell of his body that could exist without _Steve-Steve-my-Steve_. Tony heard a voice, surely not his own, chanting _mine-mine-mine_ in time with his thrusts and an echoing voice, much more melodious than his, answer, _yes-yours-yours_. Any semblance of control was gone, and Tony was gone, so gone, and his world turned to diamond and glass as his soul flowed from his cock into Steve’s body, given in complete trust, an imperative desire to share all that he was and is and ever will become, a need so primal it defied thought, bankrupted words, it just _was_.

Then there was nothing for a while, and Tony realized he must have blacked out—more like whited out—in a blinding flash of ecstasy that probably popped a couple of trillion brain cells. His next awareness was his rubbery limbs collapsed atop Steve, his face buried so deep in the pillow beside Steve’s head his own choking gasp for oxygen was what ultimately roused him. Spitting out pillow case as he excavated his face, Tony tried to prop himself up by his arms, but they weren’t cooperating. He was aware enough to know his softened rod was still buried in the wet cavern of Steve’s body and Steve’s leg was draped heavily over his back, sealing them together.

“Baby?”

Steve didn’t answer. Whether he was mute, unconscious, or just plain fucked senseless, Tony wasn’t sure, but he knew he was at least alive since he was riding the steady rise and fall of the broad chest he was cum-and-sweat plastered to. He pressed his forehead into the pillow, taking a few more breaths, mustering whatever shreds of strength that hadn’t jettisoned out through his penis before it shriveled up to die a happy death. His depleted body was making a good argument for just dropping back onto the pillow, leaving access for oxygen intake this time, and passing out for about two days. But the naggy voice in charge of his scruples—a thankless job if ever there was one—kept reminding him if he wanted to reap the perks of love with no glove, he owed it to Steve to be considerate.

Finding the wherewithal to move his arms, he propped himself on one while using the other to shove Steve’s deadweight leg off his back. “Come on, soldier. We’re on clean-up detail.” The leg landed with a muffled thud upon the mattress, Steve issuing a soft grunt, but not moving any further . . . that is until Tony peeled himself from Steve’s chest and his cock started to slide from the well-used channel. Tony was able to see Steve’s face now, watching as it scrunched miserably, though his eyes hadn’t opened.

“Nooo,” he murmured, lifting an uncoordinated hand and feeling about blindly for Tony.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Tony said softly, capturing the hand and kissing into the still sweat-damp palm. He wasn’t enjoying the parting much himself, his dick bitching about leaving the warm, wet embrace of Steve’s body. “But if I don’t help you get cleaned up, this is going to feel _really_ unpleasant in the morning, and unpleasant is the last thing I want you feeling when you get your wits back. Come on, you can do this for me, can’t you, baby-boy?”

“Sure, Tony-bear,” Steve sighed, dark lashes fluttering but still not lifting.

Tony smiled, patting Steve’s thigh as got to his knees, surveying the level of mess they had made. There was no way he would be able to clean this up properly with just the security-towel and the half bottle of water left on the nightstand. “We gotta hit the shower, baby. Come on. I’ll make it quick. Promise.”

Tony slid off the edge of the bed and got to his feet, taking a second to let the room stop spinning. When his vision readjusted, he got a good gander at the living wet dream sprawled in their bed: Steve, naked, sweat-soaked, aflush and glistening, fully fucked-out, covered in his own jiz, leaking Tony Stark cream from his deflowered ass.

_Yowzaa!_

The powerful jolt that coursed through him from that snapshot was enough to reboot his flagging systems, energizing him for the task ahead.

After the huge emotional and physical outlay, Steve was nearly as disoriented as he had been when he was sick, but thankfully this time he was able to walk under his own steam because Tony sure as hell wasn’t inviting Thundar up here for transport duty. Okay, maybe walking was a generous term for what was more like uncoordinated staggering, but Steve held fast to Tony’s hands, willingly shuffling along in the direction Tony dictated, still able to follow orders like a good—groggy—soldier. They made it safely into the shower stall, Tony bidding him to “Sit” with a press of palms upon shoulders and a tone sharp enough to keep his attention.

Steve dropped downward, his ass hitting the marble bench, legs spreading to a straddle as he slumped, back to the wall, head lolling, eyes closed for the most part. Double-checking Steve was balanced enough not to take a header into the tile floor, Tony switched on the faucets and started to hose himself off first. His own balance was rocky, his legs a little seasick, but he was determined to man-up and properly take care of his Steve, so he kicked his ass into high gear.

He gave himself a quick and dirty scrub, refusing to get lulled by the warm, steamy water over his still-tingling flesh. He took more care with Steve, using soft, soapy wash cloths, interspersed with kisses and caresses, over his silky-muscled flesh. Steve was sweetly pliant, shifting as directed, nuzzling against Tony’s stomach, offering his share of tender kisses to whichever part of Tony’s body that came close enough to his lips. Tony was pleased to see Steve’s neck and chest were still adorned with pretty purple love bites and he was sporting a few heavy duty Stark-sized thumb prints on his hips and thighs. He half wanted to take a picture of his artistic masterpiece before it faded, but talked himself out of being tactless. Besides, when they got home, JARVIS could always capture a few future moments for his private collection.

_Yeah. Like Steve would go for that?_

_Maybe. If I figure out a way to convince him._

Finished cleaning all the real estate he could reach, Tony searched for a subtle way to tell his modest man what needed to happen next without ruining the buzzy afterglow he was drifting in. “Okay, Steve, almost done here. All you need to do is stand up and bend over for me. Grab hold of the bench.”

“I what?” Steve asked, confused, his body tensing.

Relying on the fact that Steve was still in his acquiescent place, willingly following all of Tony’s directives up to this point, he played his advantage. “Come on, baby-blue. You’ll do this for _me_ , right?” He took hold of Steve’s forearms and tugged. “Here we go. Up, up, up.”

“For you, Tony?”

“Sure. I need you to do this for me. There we go. Doing great. Turn around. Face the wall.”

“Y’sure?” he asked as he turned unsteadily, swaying.

Tony took hold of his hips to steady him. “I’m sure. Bend forward. Grab hold of the bench. You can do this. There you go. That’s my big, strong soldier.”

Steve did bend, but he turned over his shoulder to look at Tony, bewildered and unsure, “I don’t think I should—”

“We’re almost done. Relax.” Tony flattened his right palm over Steve’s ass, petting in gentling circles as he grabbed the handheld hose and directed warm rivulets of water over his back and butt. “Doesn’t this feel nice?”

“Yes,” Steve sighed, still sounding unsure, but his head dropped to hang between his bracing arms, eyes casting in the direction of the bench. Tony used the soapy wash cloth to lull, cleansing cheeks and the back of thighs and legs, feeling Steve’s body relax beneath his loving attentions. The twinge he felt between his own legs had to be imagined. There was no way in hell his junk was anything more than window dressing in his current state, though the sight of Steve’s luscious rump and swollen hole could breathe life into a corpse. Knowing he had to keep this moving, Tony shook himself from his dazed reverie and pointed the spout directly over Steve’s hole. Steve bucked at the contact, which had to sting, but when Tony’s fingers pressed to part him, Steve jolted, hitting his head into the wall.

“Easy,” Tony whispered, using his voice to provide the gentling strokes his hands were too busy to bestow. “Almost done. Do you have any idea how much it means to me that you trust me like this, baby-blue? That you give me the privilege of taking care of you?”

“Tony . . . I can . . . do that.” Tony could feel the effort it was taking for Steve to remain in place, the bright red blush crawling across every expanse of his flesh, his neck and ears going crimson.

“I know you can. But you’re letting me do it. You’re amazing. You make me so happy, Steve.” Tony was working as quickly as possible without causing undue pain, not wanting to drag this beyond Steve’s comfort level, but he needed to be thorough, and he was also making the most of the opportunity to insure he hadn’t torn anything. Thankfully, the extent of the ‘damage’ consisted of swelling and reddened, overused tissue. No blood. He leaned to place tender kisses over Steve’s cheeks as he finished up, being sure to make his last inner strokes soft, wet, and loving. “There you go. All done. You’re being so good for me, baby. Love you so much.”

“Love you.” Steve’s voice was barely there, but Tony’s heart heard him loud and clear. When he patted Steve’s rump and gave him the okay to straighten, Steve shot upright and spun around, arms wrapping around Tony’s waist, taking Tony with him as he sank back onto the bench. Tony dropped the hose, straddling Steve’s legs, his ass atop Steve’s thighs as they kissed with more zeal than either of them had a right to possess. The surge petered quickly, though, Steve’s mouth going lax beneath Tony’s,their lips slipping apart. Steve’s forehead landed on his shoulder. He cupped the back of Steve’s head with his hands, fingers carding through wet silky strands. 

“Time for bed,” Tony whispered, the weight of exhaustion tugging his limbs.

“Wanted to keep you inside me,” Steve admitted sheepishly, talking to Tony’s shoulder blade.

“A shower can’t change that. I’m in your blood now. Don’t you feel all the tiny Stark cells coursing through you?”

“Stark cells.” Steve’s head drew back enough for Tony to see his sleepy, lopsided grin. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

There were times this man born decades ahead of him could look so young, Tony felt like a dirty old man for the longings he harbored. Not that he was the least bit repentant for even one of those wicked cravings, but he figured it was best to pace himself. He was in this for the long haul. “Good. Want you to sit here and think about that while I go try and make the bed sleepable.” He guided Steve to lean back against the wall, planting soft kisses on forehead, nose, and chin before getting up and turning off the water. Opening the door, he snagged a towel and handed it to Steve. “Try to dry off before you go lights out on me.”

Steve nodded, amenable, though the way he was futzing with the towel in his clumsy hands, Tony wasn’t sure how much would get accomplished. Stepping out of the cube onto the bath mat, he gave himself a quick toweling, then grabbed an armload of towels and headed back to the bedroom. He took a moment to blow all the candles out before confronting the bed. There was no way in hell he was up for changing sheets, so he settled for yanking the soiled top sheet off and covering the wet spots with towels. The blanket had a few blotches, which he dabbed with a hand towel before shaking it out and repositioning the pillows, tossing the ones that were hopeless.

“Good enough,” he decided, looking over his handwork, anxious to get back to Steve before he had to figure out a way to haul his unconscious ass out of the shower stall. Luckily, Steve was still awake, though reeling, having done a half-ass job drying off. He gratefully accepted the two bottles of water Tony brought him, drinking them both down in two chugs while Tony did his best to mop the water out of Steve’s hair. He drank his own bottle of water as he guided Steve out of the bathroom and back to bed.

Steve curled over on his side, fist tucked under his chin and Tony spooned in behind him, tugging the blanket over both of them though heat was still radiating off their flesh. But no sense risking Steve getting cold in the night, and he was getting used to sweltering in this room.

“Tony?”

Surprised Steve was still awake, his kissed the sturdy shoulder his face was tucked into. “ _Hmmmm_?”

“That was . . . astounding.”

Tony grinned, pretty fucking pleased with himself. “Only gets better from here.”

 

~0~0~0~

 


	15. Chapter 15

Steve stretched languidly across the bed, enjoying the way the ocean breeze from the open balcony door fluttered the cotton sheet draped over his naked flesh, a sheet he had a fuzzy memory of Tony throwing over him when he left the bed with a kiss and a promise to return. As mornings went, he doubted it got better than this. The sun had barely finished rising, their room bathed in the first blush of daylight. The house was quiet, though he knew Tony was stirring somewhere, his frenetic energy in direct contrast to Steve’s lethargy. Tony had awoken practically bubbling over with enthusiasm and well-being, the sleepy memory making Steve smile, though he didn’t bother to open his eyes. He wasn’t ready to move. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move again. Eventually he’d rouse if Tony didn’t come back because he would only be able to endure the separation for a short time, but he felt confident Tony would return, so he sighed, letting himself drift to the lapping sound of the ocean waves beyond the window.

Every muscle, limb, and nerve-ending in his body was thrumming with warm contentment, resulting in a dual sensation of vitality and repletion. He had never felt anything like it, not even after the serum infusion, probably because this state was both physical _and_ emotional. He appreciated this feeling of total well-being all the more in light of his recent unpleasant physical ordeal.

He was overflowing with gratitude for all he had been given—the return of his health, a home and a family, a vacation paradise right out of a movie, and, of course, the gift of love. How did a skinny little punk from Brooklyn luck into such a swell deal? Sure, not all of it had been sweets and roses, but he’d mulled enough over the bad times for a while. Time to start being appreciative for all the stuff he _did_ have. He could actually _feel_ his mom smiling at him in approval, recalling the words he had heard when they’d first arrived on the island:

_“When someone does something nice for you, the appropriate response is gratitude, Stevie. Don’t be unappreciative. Many people have obstacles a lot worse than you. This is not about what you wish you have, but about what you have. Be content and courteous.”_

 He was still unsure if the voice he had heard so clearly during his disability had been from conjured memory, a trick of his mind, or something more. Maybe the only thing that mattered was what he _chose_ to believe. He had _felt_ his mother’s presence; felt it as strongly as he felt his team—his family—rallying around him, holding on to him, keeping him from becoming lost in the void, as clearly as he felt Tony’s steadfast love beside him, facing down the shadows and pulling him back to the light. Those were all truths, truths Steve would forever put his faith in.

Steve curled his arm around the pillow, taking it with him as he rolled to his side. On the bedside table, facing him, was Elmo, Steve’s red cell phone positioned between his hands—paws? Was Elmo even an animal? He was a Muppet, Steve remembered that much, pretty sure Muppets were a species all their own. Tony had insisted he open his eyes long enough to watch him place the phone there before he slipped out of the room. Steve was supposed to use it if he needed anything.

_What could I possibly need that Tony hasn’t already given me?_

Still, he was tempted to pick it up and press _one,_ but that was more out of greed than need.

“What do you think, Elmo? Should we call Tony and get him back here?”

Elmo didn’t look to have any la la la-la’s to offer, but he did seem pretty goofily happy, a condition Steve shared. Tony had turned the little guy around to save him from witnessing things he was too young to see, but it would have been pretty hard not to have an idea of what went on in this suite last night. Steve felt his face go warm with the thought that Elmo probably wasn’t the only one.

“ _Ughhh_ ,” Steve groaned, yanking the sheet over his head. They had made quite a spectacle of themselves on the beach for sure, and neither he nor Tony had been exactly quiet in the heat of their passion. Then again, the music on the beach was loud,and most of the team was drunk and carousing pretty wildly. There was the possibility his and Tony’s private business had remained private.

_Sure. Like anything is ever private with this bunch._

Steve rolled his eyes, but was too happy to care. His old-fashioned moral code earned him an endless supply of grins and ribbing from his friends, though it was all in good fun. Besides, he felt _no_ shame for how head over heels he was for Tony, and a guy who begged like a tomcat in heat hollering “fuck me” at the top of his lungs had no business playing shrinking violet now.

He buried his face into the pillow, still hiding beneath the sheet, but he was laughing. This was exactly how it was going to be with Tony. Everything he thought he knew about himself had been turned upside down, but in the best possible way. He actually felt more like himself than he ever had, while at the exact same time being filled with wonder at each inner secret revealed. What he felt for Tony was nothing he could have imagined and everything he realized he always needed. And what they’d shared last night—Steve could still feel the power of it humming through him, even in his deepest places. He knew the sensation was likely more in his heart and mind than in his rapidly recuperative body, but he was _thrilled_ to know he could retain this feeling of repletion, like any normal person, because that is what he yearned to be for Tony: A flesh and blood—penetrable, hot blooded— _man_ , not an icon, a super soldier, an experiment, a freak. Tony had proven to Steve once and for all that his manhood still existed—even as he took it and made it his.

His heart literally skipped a beat, like a character in a dime-store novel, when he heard the door to the suite open and close.

_Tony’s back_.

Tony’s soft movements signaled his efforts not to wake Steve, but Steve was anxious to lay eyes upon him, tugging the sheet down from his face. “Morning.”

Tony was setting what looked like a tray full of food atop the table that was still in the suite from last night. “Hey,” he greeted happily as he turned toward the bed. He was wearing only a thin pool robe, looking handsome and happy as hell, eyes dancing delightfully. “You’re awake.” He left the tray where it was, walking towards the bed. “What are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?”

“You.”

“Oh, yeah? About how handsome I am or about my fantastically incredible prowess as a lover?”

Steve laughed, totally in love with every brazen inch of this man. “Well, it sure wasn’t about your modesty.” He made a move to sit up, but his body wasn’t cooperating. He was just so darn comfortable in their bed, not anxious to break the spell of this lazy, warm feeling. He settled for propping his head on one arm. “Where have you been? I missed you.”

“Sorry. Figured I’d be back before you had a chance to miss me. Thought you were down for the count. You were sawing logs when I slipped out.”

He had always been a rise and shine guy, even before the serum. Lounging in bed after sunrise wasn’t ever an option in his life, except when he was sick, which would make it a necessity, not a pleasure. But now, still nestled in the hum of their lovemaking, Steve stretched against the warm sheets, enjoying this decadence. “You wore me out,” he admitted.

“And you revved me up,” Tony laughed, sitting down on the end of the bed. “I think I could have swum to Miami on the high you gave me. I settled for the pool, not realizing how damn early the kitchen staff wakes up around here. It probably would have been a good idea if I’d put on some trunks.”

The knowledge that Tony felt recovered enough to get back into the pool after his incident the other night threatened to burst Steve’s already over-full heart. He pulled his leg out from beneath the sheet, stretching towards Tony, using his foot to brush over Tony’s knee. “Gave ‘em quite a show, huh, stud?”

“Thankfully, they weren’t too scandalized to help me put together some breakfast for you. You need to eat. And drink.”

Steve had ignored the fact that he was starving, his attention too preoccupied by bliss. “I don’t want to get up.” He sunk his head deeper into the pillows. “I’ll eat it later.”

“I could feed you.” Tony’s dark gaze was memorizing.

“If you want to feed me, come closer.”

“I thought you were worn out,” Tony said playfully as he shifted position, knee-walking up the mattress toward Steve.

“I thought you were revved up.” Steve grabbed his hands and yanked Tony the rest of the way until he fell across Steve’s chest, enabling him to reach those tempting lips without having to stir from his nest. When he finally let Tony breathe, he beseeched, “Please tell me you didn’t use up all your energy in the pool.”

“Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Does the term _encore_ mean anything to you?”

Tony pulled back enough to look into Steve’s eyes, his own dark with desire. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hasn’t even been seven hours since I fucked you like I just got out on parole after serving a five-year hitch, an act I probably should have considered more carefully when you were barely two days out of your sick bed.”

Steve had no intention of ever squelching Tony’s nurturing instinct, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary, since he was blessedly, miraculously, gratifyingly healthy again, at least physically. Tony’s need to bestow the tender pampering, and Steve’s welcoming thirst for it—and vice versa, because they took turns in the giving and receiving—soothed something broken inside both of them. “Seven, five, two—too many numbers. Stop doing math, genius. Just give me another kiss and I’ll eat the breakfast like a good boy, okay?”

Tony eagerly agreed to the terms, kissing Steve deeply enough to rouse him from his listless state, but just as things started to get interesting, Tony pulled back and left the bed, going to retrieve the tray. Steve unhappily sat up.

“I think you’re actually pouting,” Tony laughed when he returned with the tray.

“Am not.”

“Are so.” Tony set the tray on the empty side of the bed, then leaned in to trace Steve’s kiss-heated lips with his finger. “And it’s working, too. Tell you what. Keep up your end of the bargain and eat this breakfast I brought you, and I might be open to renegotiating my terms.”

“Yeah?” Steve would willingly eat a buffalo if it convinced Tony he was okay to make love again. Besides, he was pretty hungry. Tony helped him prop the pillows against the headboard, waiting until Steve was leaning back comfortably before returning to perch on the end of the bed. The tray was filled with covered plates of food, juices, and bottles of water. “You’re going to help me eat this, right?”

“I already ate. Why? Are you feeling nauseous?” Tony’s body tensed, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Steve.

“Not at all,” Steve answered with a smile, trying to defuse the worry. He kept the sheet tucked over his lap, still not having grown completely comfortable with naked eating, or even eating in bed, but he realized both would become routine the longer he was with Tony. Setting the tray over his well-covered lap, he removed one of the lids and dug into the delicious omelet. “It’s just a lot of food,” he reasoned after swallowing two mouthfuls. “It’s going to take time.”

“You in a hurry?” Tony laughed, looking to relax.

“Yes!” Steve chewed and swallowed then downed half a bottle of water. “How is it you already ate? What time did you get up?” Steve realized he had no concept of what time it was when Tony had left the suite.

“I slept,” Tony assured, spreading himself across the foot of the bed, head propped on his fist as he watched Steve eat. “Pretty damn well, actually. Best in a long time. Which only helped fuel this vitality you infused me with.”

“You’re going to have to stop looking at me like that if you want me to finish this.”

“Like what?”

“Like _that_.”

“What? I’ve got a tall, leggy, gorgeous blond in my bed. I can’t stare?” Tony’s grin only became broader and no less risqué, but he at least flopped down on his back so Steve’s couldn’t see it full-on. “Fine. This any better?”

“Barely.”

Tony laughed, stirring restlessly, flipping this way and that, looking to have trouble containing his energy, a condition made more apparent when he started doing sit-ups.

 “Swimming didn’t help, huh?”

“Oh, it helped.” He kicked his feet up in the air then practically did a back flip off the bed. “I’m a lot less juiced now.”

“Clearly.” Steve smiled before washing down his pancakes with juice of his own.

Tony began jogging around the room, shadow boxing. “I can’t help it. I’m telling you,baby, I really think I’m getting a hit off your serum every time I drink your cream.”

“And I keep telling you it doesn’t work that way.”

“That you know of.”

Steve tried to keep eating around his laughter, delighted by Tony’s antics, his own enthusiasm pulsing just as strongly, only internally, whereas Tony was sporting his outwardly, looking about ready to pop at the seams. “Last night was . . . spectacular.”

“Would it hurt your feelings if I was crass for, like, one minute? I mean, if I promise to be good after that?”

Steve laughed so hard, he almost choked on his bacon. He couldn’t even begin to speculate on what bawdy, off-color, smutty, wickedly hot thing Tony was bursting to say, but the anticipation was irresistible. “Take your best shot.”

Tony leapt up onto the sofa near the balcony doors, bouncing on the cushions, looking as smug as it was humanly possible to look. “I freakin’ popped Captain America’s cherry! I totally tapped that. I fucked Steve Rogers so damn fucking good you fucking passed out on me. Who da man? Stark’s da man. Oh, yeah!” Tony’s fists pumped the air, then pounded against his chest like Tarzan. Chest puffed out like a peacock, he jumped off the couch and started doing the most obnoxious dance Steve had ever seen.

Steve’s hard-on nearly dislodged the tray from his lap. He was grinning like an idiot, using every ounce of self-control to not toss the food altogether and drag Tony back down and make him do it again. “That all you got? There’s at least thirty seconds of your minute left.”

“You loved it,” Tony crowed, still dancing.

“I did.”

“I am so all that!”

“You are.”

“Your ass is _mine_ , baby.”

“Sure is.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony hissed, shaking his fists like his team just scored the winning run in the World Series.

When Tony’s hands cupped his hips and he began a rotating, provocative, jutting motion, Steve reached over to the bedside table and picked up his phone. It took him a second to coordinate his big thumbs over the small virtual letters, but he managed to successfully compose and send his text message, grinning when Tony’s phone began to buzz in his robe pocket. “Better check your phone. Might be important.”

“My phone?”

Steve glanced down at his own screen, proud he hadn’t made as much as tiny typo in his important message: **Why don’t you stop wasting your energy dancing and come fuck me again, sweetie-cutie? Pretty please.**

“Did you just sext me?” Tony asked, jaw dropping as he gaped at his phone. “Sexting me _and_ writing profanity? Holyshit!”

Steve leaned back against the pillows, taking a long drag on his water bottle as he watched Tony’s face break into the most amazing grin, the one that made the adorable crinkle lines at the sides of his eyes and tops of his cheeks. Steve loved being the one to make Tony smile in utter delight. After seeing Tony’s face ashen and etched with worry lines for too long, Steve could truly appreciate this animated expression of unreserved happiness that made him look like a lighthearted kid.

“Um-oh.” Tony’s eyebrows arched, his expression a mixture of amusement and _uh-oh_ now as he stared at his screen. “Baby, did you mean to send this as group text?”

“A what?”

“A group text. The same message to more than one person.”

“No. I sent it to _you_. Why would I send something like _that_ to anyone else?”

“Ah, _yea-ah_. Right. Why would you? Um, listen, why don’t you finish your breakfast? I need to go run a quick errand. I’ll be right back.”

“Errand? Seriously? Now? Did you not read my message?”

“Oh, I read it all right. Just need to make sure I’m the only one.”

“The only—wait! What are you saying?” _Group text._ Those were Tony’s words. _Why would he ask me that unless . . ._ _? “_ No! Tell me I didn’t.”

Tony shoved his phone back in his pocket then walked to the dresser, picking up his tablet, fingers rapidly dancing over the screen. “No worries. I’ll take care of this. Thankfully, you’ve been too sick to use it, so there’s only a few numbers programed into your new phone . . . from when you were practicing texting the other day.”

“And I sent that message to them?” Steve picked up the pillow and smacked himself in the face. “I don’t believe this.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Tony sounded like he was trying not to laugh, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “They’re all still passed out. Nobody is reading text messages right now, believe me. And by the time they would, I’ll have made it disappear.”

“Go! Do it now. Go do your Stark techno genius thing. Hurry up.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t Tweet it. Can you see us now at the next press conference: My name is Steve Rogers and yes I DO want Tony Stark to fuck me again.”

Tony ducked the flying pillow coming at his head as he darted towards the door of the suite. “Finish your breakfast while I’m gone. You’re going to owe me big time when I get back and for that, you’ll need _all_ your strength.”

Steve groaned, shaking his head as the door closed. He was mortified.

But he was also still hungry.

And happy.

Very happy. 

~0~0~0~

 

It didn’t take Tony long to return, just enough time for Steve to finish his breakfast and wash up. He had begun nervously tidying the room when Tony burst back through the door.

“Mission accomplished, baby-blue. Feel free to thank me now. I risked life and limb for you. Black Widow almost shot me.”

“What? I thought you were just going to do some technology thing and erase the message from their phones.”

“Yeah, that worked fine for the non-paranoid. Not even sure Thundar knew where his phone was, and it sure as hell didn’t have any encrypted blocking software. Neither did Banner’s, though if anyone should be paranoid, you’d think it would be him. Coulson, now there’s a phone with heavy duty protection. Not sure even Fury could tap his cell. But it’s okay. He was getting ready to start his morning work-out and I just explained what happened, and he agreed to delete your text without reading it. He’ll get it off Barton’s phone, too.”

“You told him what it said?”

“No. I told him you still suck at texting and you mistakenly sent a message you’d rather not have anyone read. Agent’s cool. He understood. Nat on the other hand. Well, suppose it might have had something to do with her finding me slithering across the floor of her suite like a pool-robed ninja. Nearly rug-burned my balls on that shitty carpet and for what? That woman would wake up at the sound of a pin dropping. Not sure how she hears anything when Banner is snoring like a freight train, but whatever. I got the message deleted and she didn’t shoot. Of course, I had to promise to renovate her suite at the tower to a full-floor spread with its own firing range this time, but what the hell,right? More work for the Vinnies. Anyway, it’s all good, baby.”

“My hero,” Steve gushed, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and lifting him off his feet to spin him around.

“Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t. Now come back to bed and let me start paying off my debt.” Not waiting for an answer, Steve carried him to the bed and dumped him upon the mattress.

“Hang on. I was too busy protecting your honor to get a chance to enjoy this properly.” He dug his phone back out of his pocket, but Steve confiscated both phone and tablet from his lover’s hands and flipped them onto the couch. “Hey!” Tony protested, though he was laughing as Steve crawled over him to straddle him.

“Why read about it when you can have the real thing?”

“Because how often does a guy get sexted by Captain Fucking America?”

“Play your cards right and it could happen a lot more often.” He leaned down to nuzzle and smooch along Tony’s neck and Adam’s apple, eager to add more hickeys to the pretty collection Tony was already sporting . “Provided you take that group message thing off there.”

Tony’s neck arched to accommodate the heated attention, fingers sifting into Steve’s hair to draw him closer. “Believe me, I don’t want anybody looking at your naughty missives but me. But I’m glad to hear you don’t plan to let one little miscue keep you from the wonderful world of sexting. You _are_ going to send me more, right?”

“Are you seriously more turned on by that message than the fact that I am hovering over you naked and hot for your touch?”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Tony grinned wickedly, wrapping one hand around Steve’s cock, his other digging deeper into Steve’s hair, tugging until their lips met. It felt like forever since they had kissed, which was a greedy thought considering how many hours of beautiful love-making Steve had been gifted with last night, but Steve didn’t care. He _needed_ Tony in a way he’d never allowed himself to need before. Tony’s kisses were potent, possessing the power to define for Steve exactly who he was and why he existed. He used to worry his inexperience would make him awkward, but there was nothing complicated about being in Tony’s arms. Everything was straightforward, simple, as if his mind, body, and heart were born already knowing how to love Tony Stark. And Tony . . . Tony had to be the most indulgent, thoughtful, adroit lover ever created. For sure, his genius extended far beyond the walls of his lab, as did his dexterity and precise attention to detail, but it was his heart that wooed Steve the most.

The metal that covered Tony Stark’s heart was a physical embodiment of a condition that happened long before Afghanistan, the mechanic having built those inner steel walls to protect an already battered heart from hurt and fear and loss. But Tony had willingly dismantled those walls, allowing Steve access to his innermost being. Tony had been completely open to him, his love and trust for Steve evident in every touch, every kiss, convincing him that what they shared bore no resemblance to all the sex Tony had engaged in before. Steve could give no less than his whole self in return; gave it willingly, passionately, eagerly. He had led a remarkable life for sure, but it all paled in comparison to the privilege of being loved by—of belonging to—Tony Stark.

“You taking this robe off willingly?” Steve moaned against Tony’s throat when their kiss broke for well-earned gasps of oxygen. “Or do I need to rip more of your clothing and listen to you complain about it later?”

“Decisions, decisions.” Tony flatted his palms on Steve’s chest, nudging him to pull back. “Guess I’ll make it easy on you since you’re clearly still recovering from last night.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve laughed, climbing off Tony to kneel beside him on the mattress. “What about you, old man? Think you can get it up again?”

Tony slid off the end of the bed, stripping his robe and tossing it. “Well I’ll be damned. Deflower the guy and he starts going all cocky on me.” He wrapped his fist around his own thickened cock, waving it. “I got what you need right here. Sure you can handle all this again so soon?”

Steve reached across the bed to the tube that remained on the bedside table from last night. He flipped it to Tony. “Only one way to find out.”

Truth be told, Steve had hungered to feel the repletion of Tony buried deep inside him pretty much since Tony had pulled out of him last night. Those moments of being joined completely with the man he loved burned off decades of icy loneliness and unlocked something within him that he was only beginning to acknowledge and understand . He was aware of how closely Tony was watching every move he made, every breath he took, as he walked to the edge of the bed on his knees to meet him. He could see the hunger he had been fighting to tame mirrored in Tony’s eyes as he dropped to his back, one leg going around Tony’s waist to snag him and pull him closer.

“So much for foreplay,” Tony growled as he took hold of the knee that wasn’t at his waist and made Steve spread. “Am I going to have to fuck you every day to keep you satisfied?”

“Only once a day?” Steve pouted. “That all you good for?”

“Now who’s shameless?” Tony asked with a sassy grin as he shoved a slicked-up finger inside Steve.

“Learned from the master.” Steve moaned in welcome, wanting more. Needing more. He rubbed the heel of his foot against Tony’s rear, casting off their flirty chatter, looking into Tony’s eyes with no pretense. “I really need you. Please?”

“Right here, baby-blue.” Still standing, Tony leaned closer to the bed, rubbing Steve’s knee comfortingly as his finger breached further. “Just let me make sure we’re good to go, okay?”

Despite his aching need, Steve didn’t argue, having taken to heart their discussion about endurance versus true longing. This trust between them . . . this care . . . this tenderness . . . was the difference between love and sex. Steve was grateful he had held out all his life for love and even more grateful Tony hadn’t let him get away with tarnishing what they had by turning it into an endurance test. Yeah, he could withstand just about anything, but his super strength had no place in their bedroom. This was the place to let go . . . be open and vulnerable . . . each of them giving themselves over completely to the love and trust of the other.

_“Your body is going to open to me out of longing, not expediency. When I’m done, your body is going to beg me to come inside. You’re going to feel a hunger deep within you like nothing you’ve ever known. And the only thing that’s ever going to be able to sate that hunger is me.”_ Tony had been true to his word then and Steve expected no less now. Besides, _getting there_ was the most sweetly torturous journey Steve had ever experienced.

He felt his walls clenching around Tony’s invading finger, a crazy protective reflex trying to push Tony out even as every fiber of Steve wanted the feel the penetration deeper. So strange, this inner battle. Even more strange, not giving in to his soldier’s instinct and defending his territory, but instead trying to relax into what he knew now would be blissful surrender—if he could just make it there.

Tony, thankfully, was persistent. One finger. Two. Stretching. Twisting. Stoically withstanding discomfort was so ingrained in him, he had to fight to _feel_ the aching pleasure, to yield to the push-pull of being full beyond his limit and yet still too empty. His fingers were buried in his own hair, scrabbling against his scalp as he fought to hang on. “Talk to me,” he gasped, Tony’s voice always the key to completely dismantling him.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Tony moaned as he pushed in deeper, and Steve could feel Tony’s body tremble through the fingertips inside him. “You look so fucking hot, right now. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? All open and flushed, your whole body begging for me. _Sooo_ tight. Tight like last night. All healed up, huh? Means I’m going to have to pop it again. My eternal virgin, huh, baby?”

“That okay?” Steve worried, but Tony didn’t give him a second’s unease about being abnormal.

“Fuck, yeah!” he growled as what felt like another finger shoved up inside Steve, stretching him impossibly fuller until Tony pressed against the spot inside that undid him. He let out a wail, his upper body coming off the mattress then collapsing back as intense waves of pleasure shot through his insides, his stomach, his legs. His head dizzied, his vision whiting-out as Tony thrust into him again and again, stroking what he had called the _love knot_ , which, in the moment, _did_ feel—as Tony had teased—like a device inserted inside him that only Tony could control. His cock had gone impossibly stiff, the pressure almost like a desperate need to piss, only not quite. Or maybe. He didn’t even know anymore. Every nerve ending was alive and tingling and aching with need, a need that felt older than he was, as if it had existed inside him, untappedforever, but refused to be silenced any longer.

“Tony, please, please,” he begged, hands reaching out blindly, his leg locking tighter around Tony’s waist.

“I’ve got you.” Tony tapped Steve’s octopus thigh. “You gotta give me a little maneuvering room. Move this up here.” Steve unwrapped his leg and slid the back of his knee over Tony’s shoulder as directed. And then Tony’s hand was around his cock and the demanding fingers were sliding out from inside him. He hated it, feeling immediately empty, but he managed to wipe the sweat from his eyes with the back of his forearm, watching as Tony aligned their bodies. Tony’s lips were pursed, his eyes intent, drawn downward to the point between his cock and Steve’s hole. The diskin his chest didn’t cast as radiant a glow in the sunlit room as it had last night, but Steve’s eyes were still drawn to it, this familiar blue beam that spoke _Tony_ as clearly as any words could.

Tony’s eyes came up, as if sensing Steve watching him. His smile was soft at first, but then primal, a look that nearly devoured him as he felt Tony breach the walls of his body and come inside. Tony was beautiful when he made love—well, beautiful all the time, but more so when they were together like this. Steve liked to believe that Tony had never looked at anyone the way he was looking at Steve right now, that it was an expression reserved solely for him. Certainly felt like it—intimate—because Tony knew him in a way he didn’t even know himself, and was willing to share his own secrets with only Steve.

Steve wanted every secret, every nuance, every trait, every good-bad-infuriating-exhilarating inch of Tony Stark. He loved how complicated and yet how simple Tony was, because under all the layers of unique Tony-ness was such a loving, but fragile heart, and extraordinary goodness camouflaged so masterfully, Tony often didn’t recognize it in himself. Steve had blindly missed it when they first met, but that was more because his own self-righteousness had gotten in his way, though, even then, Tony’s irrepressible charisma disarmed him.

Seemed like a lifetime ago. The Steve Rogers who wasn’t head over heels in love with Tony Stark felt further in the distance than the kid from Brooklyn who met Howard Stark in a secret Army facility.

_Uh-oh. Better shut up about his dad or Tony’s going to accuse me of being a boner killer again._

The last thing in the world he wanted to do was screw around with Tony’s boner. Steve bore down on Tony’s cock, pulling more of it inside, because Tony was his and he needed him, every bit of him. Tony gasped, his fist nearly strangling Steve’s cock as he shook from the sensation. “Jeezus, baby. You’re killing me.”

“Then die inside me, because I need you. Now!”

Tony pushed further, and Steve’s insides exploded in fire—pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy, and there was nothing else like it ever. Felt like he was stuffed beyond all capacity, yet he needed to be fuller and he wasn’t the only one shuddering with impatience and insatiable hunger. Tony’s emotions were as clear to him as his own. No, clearer. He had to let Tony know this was right for them both. “It’s okay, love,” he promised. “We both need this. Do it. Won’t let you hurt me. Promise.”

“Ah, Steve,” Tony cried, and for a moment, his expression was completely shattered. And then he was moving inside Steve, hot and fierce and wild and unleashed. Steve struggled to yield to the force stronger than him, which was physically impossible yet undeniably true. And then everything broke inside, crumbling to pieces, devastating him even as he was infused with a pulsing life force that remade him. He had actually experienced rebirth, but the process paled in comparison to this, his body throbbing, enervated and empowered simultaneously, the fire of their connection burning steady, protecting him from cold isolation, a blanket around his soul, sheltering even as he flew.

Yielding fully to this glorious surrender, he rode the waves of Tony’s passion, their bodies moving as one, Steve following willingly, no resistance, only a pleasure too good to be real—except it was. This was all he was; all he ever wanted to be. He belonged to Tony and Tony to him. Nothing else mattered. He’d never felt a freedom like this: no expectations, no duty, no façade, every inch of him naked, laid bare, and yet safe, safer than he’d ever been.

And Tony . . . Tony gave him everything. Steve exploded once, a magnificent climax that rocked him practically out of his body, leaving him even more open, if that was possible. Tony stayed with him, riding every last tremor, sinking deeper still. For a while, neither of them was able to form words, managing to communicate on a deeper level, their only sounds the unspoken truth of their bodies, their love, flesh upon flesh mingled with moans and gasps. Somewhere in the steamy haze, Steve became aware that his butt cheeks were slipping off the edge of the bed and he braced his foot more firmly on the mattress to shove himself back, the movement breaking their rhythm enough to drag words from Tony’s throat.

“Where you going? Not finished with you yet.”

Steve grinned like an idiot at the declaration. “No finishing. Just trying not to land on the floor.”

“Think I’d let you fall, baby?”

Tony reared back and thrust into Steve so powerfully, his butt skidded across the sheet, yanking Tony’s cock with him. Tony’s feet must have come completely off the floor because he fell onto Steve’s chest. The leg he still had thrown over Tony’s shoulder bent beneath Tony’s weight, Steve nearly getting hit in the face with his own knee.

“Oops,” Tony huffed into his shoulder, taking the opportunity to feast on his clavicle.

“Running out of steam, Stark?” Steve teased.

“Hardly.” Tony’s teeth slid down, taking a bite of his nipple, the sensation scalding his already hypersensitive flesh. Then Tony’s head rose, face hovering over Steve’s as he vowed, “Stay inside you forever if I could figure out a way.”

“Yes, figure it out,” Steve pleaded, his palm cupping the back of Tony’s head, pulling until their lips were together and they were kissing the life out of each other. The kisses sustained them for a while, Steve’s insides clenching to keep Tony buried to the root, Tony’s cock searing him. Eventually, though, there was no holding back the urge to move. Tony had to reposition in order to thrust, backing up to get his feet planted back on the floor, temporarily separating them, but the absence was brief. He grabbed Steve beneath both knees and pressed his legs open wide, shoving back in to the hilt in one passionate thrust, causing them both to yell each other’s names in ragged chorus.

Seconds . . . minutes . . . hours . . . Steve wasn’t sure . . . time lost meaning . . . forever wouldn’t have been long enough. His one lucid thought was _Tony,_ the rest of his brain melted and useless. And then he felt Tony convulse, heard the raw groan as the warm surge of his essence poured into him, watched as his head fell back in ecstasy, release, satisfaction. Steve wanted to watch him, feel him, but then he was coming again, Tony dragging the climax from him without even touching his cock. They were both soaring now, riding out the tumult of their passion together.

It was a while before their bodies calmed enough to get a full breath. Steve could feel his heart battering his sternum, hear it pounding in his ears. He grabbed the sheet to wipe the mist of his emotions from his eyes, vision clearing enough to see Tony weaving on his feet, neck still bent, head hanging heavily backwards, eyes cast toward the ceiling. His cock had softened and slid most of the way from Steve’s channel, though Tony looked reluctant to let it escape completely. The hands beneath Steve’s knees were trembling, and it looked as if any second Tony was going to teeter back too far and crash to the floor. Rousing, Steve did a sit-up, arms reaching, taking hold of Tony’s upper arms and lifting. He got Tony safely nestled onto the bed on top of him, both of them a mess inside and out, but none of it mattered. There was only one thing that truly mattered, and Steve whispered it with what was left of his voice.

“Love you, angel-mine.”

“Y’better,” Tony muttered before drooling onto Steve’s chest. 

~0~0~0~


	16. Chapter 16

“Are you wanting to go down there?”

“I’m good right here.”

Tony smiled as Steve nuzzled closer. He had made the offer grudgingly, and sure, if Steve had wanted to, he would have sucked it up and gone down to join the team on the beach even if he wasn’t ready to share just yet, but he was selfishly satisfied for the reprieve. Other than Tony taking a few early morning dips in the pool when no one was around, and Steve going for a run at the crack of dawn, they hadn’t left the suite in two days. Tony had directed the staff to bring all their meals—along with Steve’s snacks—up here. Steve had insisted on changing the linens himself, sheepish about having the staff see the mess they had made in the bed. He ended up changing the bedding several times since they had been extremely _active_ here in their island hideaway. Tony figured Steve would eventually get used to not having to do housekeeping chores himself and maybe get a little less uptight about the fact that their sex life wasn’t exactly a national secret, but then again, this was Steve Rogers. His modesty was part of his charm, and Tony wasn’t in a rush to see it change—though between the sheets Steve had gotten a lot more comfortable with his _immodest_ urges.

 _Behave,_ Tony told his cock, which had the audacity to be stirring inside his cotton pants. _This is cuddle time_.

Okay, okay, wasn’t fair his cock was taking the rap. His brain needed scolding for supplying the data stream that got his cock riled in the first place. Yeah, he was enjoying his role as debaucher a little too much, but what was the harm? They were both so stinking happy he wasn’t sure they would ever leave this suite. Well, technically they had left, right? They were on the balcony; that counted as outside didn’t it? Fresh air. Sunshine. The works.

“I’ve never played volleyball, or even seen it played,” Steve remarked from his position curled on his side, head resting on Tony’s chest. They were sprawled in the over-size lounger, which was almost as well cushioned as the bed, making it pretty pleasant, especially since Steve was only wearing trunks and nothing else. Tony was not as big a fan of Caribbean sun as his lover, thus his long pants, tee shirt and shades, but their bare feet had been providing a nice level of skin on skin contact, playing lazily together. Steve had been reading earlier, but seemed content to cuddle and doze for a while, well, until the bizarre version of a beach volleyball game commenced, stealing his attention.

Tony set his tablet on the table, and lifted his sunglasses to take a closer look. “Yeah, pretty sure they’re making those rules up as they go along.” There had been a lot more complaining than playing. Whosever brilliant idea it was to pit Romanov and Barton on opposite sides was clearly more interested in a cut-throat battle than a friendly game since they were more competitive than wild dingos on a carcass. Somewhere after the fifth ball was launched three miles out into the ocean, Thundar, who was teamed with Natasha, was restricted to only _tapping_ the ball with his head and _only_ if it came in the exact spot he was standing. Banner had grown so bored with the game, since Clint was racing in front of him to bogart every shot, he had actually pulled a paperback out of his shorts and was reading between volleys. Agent had been acting as ref for a bit, but looked as though he had nodded off in his chair, his wide-brimmed hat listing to one side. Presently, they were in time-out mode while everyone seemed to be yelling at each other about everything, starting with the fact that Nat had spiked the ball so hard onto Barton’s head, he landed face down in the sand, looking to have swallowed a good chunk of it.

“So volleyball _isn’t_ a combat sport?” Steve laughed, his fingers slipping under Tony’s shirt to draw soft circles over is stomach.

“I think checkers would be a combat sport if Natasha was playing.”

“She does _not_ like to lose,” Steve agreed. “But I think they’re having a good time.”

“You sure you’re not itching to go down there and play?”

“Why? Do you want to? You getting tired of being cooped up here with me?”

“Hmm, let me check.” Tony raised his wrist to look at his watch. “Nope. Not the twelfth of never yet, so I can’t be tired of you.”

Steve threw his leg over both of Tony’s, pressing closer still. “Good.” He crooked his neck a bit to nuzzle his nose into Tony’s chin hair. “Did I ever really thank you for bringing me on this vacation? I’ve never been on a vacation. I know I put a pretty big damper on things at the start, but I’m looking forward to making up for lost time.”

Tony’s stomach still got the jitters at the idea of losing _any_ time with Steve—of losing Steve period. _Never going to happen,_ he vowed as he finger-combed the sun-kissed hair. “Yeah? What are some things you want to do?” _Tell me so I can make every single one of them happen._

“Well, let’s see.” Steve took a long breath, relaxing back onto Tony’s shoulder. “When I can bring myself to leave this suite, I’d like to see the rest of this island. And maybe some of the surrounding ones. Oh, and I want to take a boat ride with you. Maybe learn to surf? Scuba dive? Snorkel? I don’t know. Heck, maybe even learn to play beach volleyball, even if it is Avenger style. And jet ski. Yeah. That might be fun.”

“Not with Thor. Or Barton.” Steve laughed, but he sure as hell didn’t agree. Tony could only wonder at the antics that lay ahead, but it didn’t matter. Steve wanted to have fun and Tony wouldn’t deny him anything. There hadn’t been an abundance of fun in his first twenty-four years, but he had a second shot now and Tony had the power to make things different this go-round, a task he looked forward to eagerly. It wasn’t going to be easy to spoil someone as selfless and abstemious as Steve Rogers, but Tony excelled at doing the impossible and he was highly motivated. “That’s a pretty short list, baby. We got a couple of weeks yet before the coast will be clear enough to head home. Think big.”

“Actually, I’m thinking smaller. The thing I most want to do is walk on the beach with you. I want to hold your hand and walk along the surf. I want to watch the sunrise together and I want to walk at night and look at the stars with your hand in mine. I’ve wanted to do that since the minute we got here, back when I couldn’t even stand up on my own two feet. If that was the only thing I got to do on this vacation, it would be more than enough.”

“Sounds pretty good,” Tony said softly, looking towards the shore, picturing himself there with Steve. He tried to remember if he had ever felt this comfortable in his own skin. Steve was content just to be with him. _Me. Tony Stark. Not too shabby._

“You sure?” Steve asked. “Because I really want to do a lot of that sappy, romantic boyfriend stuff. I mean, you did ask me to go steady, right?”

Tonyknew the exact grin on Steve’s face even if it was buried in his shirt. “I may have said something along those lines.”

“Oh, you did for sure. I have an excellent memory. Well, when I’m not soused on Asgardian moonshine I do.”

Astonishingly, they were both laughing, and Tony knew the ability to laugh at your horror gave you power over the nightmares. He wasn’t fooled into believing this experience was completely behind them, or that there were no scars, but scars were nothing more than badges of courage, proof that you made it out alive as you clawed your way along the comeback trail.

“Okay. But you do know if you’re going steady with me, that means you have to put out whenever I want.”

“Put out what?”

Tony rolled to his side, shoving his hand down the front of Steve’s trunks, striking gold on his first try. “Figure of speech. Means s-e-x.”

Steve gasped and laughed simultaneously, his hips jutting up reflexively, pressing his cock smack against Tony’s hand. “Like I don’t do that already?”

“Great. Then I guess we _are_ going steady.” Tony attached his teeth to Steve’s neck as his captured cock already started to swell in his fist.

“To- _nee_! We’re outside!”

“So what? Nobody is paying any attention in this direction. They’re too busy trying to kick each other’s asses into the sand.” Steve tried to squirm away, but Tony moved with him, kissing down his collarbone.

“Not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“We’re outside.”

“Come on, baby-blue.” Tony slid his tongue around the shell of Steve’s ear, using his best seductive whisper. “Don’t you want to be naughty for me?”

Steve’s cock hardened to steel in Tony’shand and his breath caught in his throat as he groaned, “I’ll be as naughty as you want.”

Steve’s needful response bit Tony right in the nads, and then Steve was kissing the lascivious grin off his face. Right before Steve swallowed his tongue whole, Tony felt strong fingers wrap around his wrist and yank his hand from those shorts. A second later, Steve was on his feet, all cherry lips and baby-blue eyes, his smile brighter than the sun. “But first you need to haul your butt inside,” he challenged before disappearing into the suite.

Laughing, Tony flew up out of the chair to chase his man. “Right behind you.”

 

~0~0~0~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed _The Comeback Kids ___!
> 
> As I look at the clock, I see it is officially Christmas Eve as I finish posting this story, so MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
> 
> Speaking of Christmas, the next story in this universe was intended to be a Christmas One-Shot. I am obviously a little behind in that deadline, but hopefully you guys will want to read this Christmas story even in January.
> 
> And keep an eye out for more stories in the _Awakenings ___Universe, hopefully coming soon!
> 
> Thank you, once again, for all your support and encouragement!!


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